And Then Again
by faithlight
Summary: Sequel to "As it Turned Out." Lorelai and Chris are expecting their second child, but married life isn't always easy. Lorelai's thoughts flash back to Rory's childhood, when Lorelai and Chris spent a day together that would change their lives forever.
1. Chapter 1

PART ONE

Lorelai Gilmore Hayden was fed up. It was her first day of Christmas vacation from The Dragonfly, and she'd done nothing all day but wash laundry, fold laundry, iron laundry, and put away laundry. Her step-daughter Gigi seemed to have more clothes in her wardrobe than Lorelai herself, which shouldn't have been possible, given that Gigi was six. Her daughter Rory was home for Christmas, along with another formidable pile of laundry, but Lorelai had to admit that _was_ possible. Still, Rory was an adult who could have washed her own clothes before coming home. Her husband Christopher was not only capable of washing his own laundry, but unlike Rory, he'd been home every day. And yet, this morning he had suddenly pulled several shirts and ties out of his closet and asked her casually if she could wash and iron them before his business meeting tonight, since he hadn't decided what he was going to wear yet.

For God's sake, she wasn't a full-time housewife. She was the owner of an inn. She couldn't afford to take much time off, not even at Christmas. In fact, she especially couldn't afford to take time off during Christmas, when people expected above-average customer service. If she were gone for more than a couple of days in a row, Sookie and Michel would get so entangled in their own squabbles that any guest who tried to get a word in edgewise might as well be speaking Swahili. By the time Lorelai got back to work, she'd most likely have to deal with a nut-allergic guest who'd been served a piping hot version of Sookie's Peanut Fudge Surprise for dessert, or a honeymooning couple who'd been mistaken for brother and sister and been given two rooms. It might take her until the next Christmas to mend the damage and recoup her losses. Lorelai had years ago made it a policy never to stay away from the inn for more than three days at a time, Christmas or not. She had Christmas, the day after Christmas and New Year's off each year, but Lorelai didn't count those days as vacation, because they always involved parties with her parents or her parents' wealthy acquaintances, which made work feel like a Caribbean vacation by comparison. And since she'd married Christopher, there were the Hayden gatherings, which had made Lorelai almost appreciate Gilmore get-togethers.

But today should have been special. It was supposed to have been the first of only two real Christmas holidays for Lorelai. She had even come up with a plan for the day. It involved unplugging her alarm the night before, spending the morning in her pyjamas leisurely eating cold pizza and pop-tarts, and whiling away the afternoon catching up on several hours of recorded TV shows. Instead, this morning Lorelai had dragged herself out of bed at six-thirty to make lunch for Gigi. She didn't understand why Chris couldn't do it, since he'd been doing it for years, but he'd muttered something about needing to get to work early. For breakfast, Lorelai had eaten old Cornflakes that tasted like cardboard, because Gigi wanted the last two pop-tarts in her lunch.

The rest of the day had been a blur. Since ten o'clock this morning, Lorelai had been up to her knees in laundry. Up to her neck in laundry. Up to her ears in laundry. Up to her _eyes_ in laundry. She had been so submerged in laundry that now, when she closed her eyes, she saw shirts and blouses and underwear of every colour and size and pattern. She also smelled laundry detergent when she closed her eyes. Then again, maybe she smelled laundry detergent because even in the few minutes during the day when she'd had a chance to rest her eyes, she hadn't been more than five feet from a piece of laundry.

Lorelai wasn't meant to spend her day off doing laundry. She definitely wasn't meant for it at four months pregnant. Right now, she should be lying on the couch with her feet up, savoring her box of Christmas chocolates, or watching White Christmas for the hundredth time—or, for skating through a soft snowfall in a scene straight out of a sentimental Christmas card, while her husband skated alongside her.

Speaking of her husband…

Downstairs, the front door creaked open and then clicked shut. Someone jerked the closet door open, rattled a coat hanger noisily, and slammed the door. Then, two at a time, someone bounded up the stairs. Within seconds, Chris poked his head in the door of their bedroom.

"Hi, Lor."

She looked up from the ironing. "Well, look who's home."

"Hi," Christopher answered, his back already turned to her. He was scanning the dresser. "Have you seen my watch?"

Lorelai drove the iron hard across one of Rory's blouses. "No."

"Where did I put it?" Christopher muttered under his breath. He yanked open a dresser drawer, rifled through it, and shoved it shut it again. Then he pulled open the next one and proceeded to do the same thing. In a few seconds he straightened and, pushing the last drawer shut with his foot, began loosening his tie.

"Can you just check around here for it while I go change?" He glanced at Lorelai as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Lorelai, still ironing, waved at him with her free hand. "Go, go. Change while I say the magic words and pull your watch from thin air."

"Thanks, Lor," he said, tossing his shirt on a chair. Lorelai winced as she watched Christopher's back disappearing out the door. With a sigh, she walked to the dresser and studied it. Then she glanced at Christopher's shirt lying crumpled on the chair. Fifteen seconds later, with a look of mingled triumph and annoyance, she was clutching the watch that had been lying on the chair before the shirt was thrown unceremoniously on top of it. Christopher popped his head back in.

"Uh, have you ironed my blue shirt?"

"It's your lucky day. I ironed all the shirts in the laundry."

"Uh, and the shirt that wasn't in the laundry?" He pulled a shirt off a hanger in the closet and held it up to her sheepishly. Lorelai narrowed her eyes. Christopher gave her his most persuasive, innocent smile.

"Lor, I know you're tired, but if you could just iron this shirt…"

"No problem. I have all the time in the world to iron all the shirts in the universe."

Christopher, hastily brushing his hair in front of the mirror, didn't miss the sarcasm. "Look, I can't miss this dinner. I have to be there in ten minutes and you've been home all day."

"Yes, home all day lying around eating bonbons."

"So that's why you haven't ironed my shirt."

Lorelai's eyes widened. "I have been ironing clothes all day, buddy! I have been washing clothes, drying clothes, folding clothes, putting clothes away, ironing clothes. I am so sick of clothes I'm this close to tossing out my entire closet and heading to a beach in Miami where clothes are completely optional."

"Okay, that wouldn't explain why you haven't ironed my shirt."

Lorelai threw the shirt at him. "Iron your shirt yourself."

Chris turned and picked up his shirt. He glanced at her. "It was a joke." Lorelai wasn't smiling. With a sigh, he came over to her and held her, even though she was stiff in his arms. He kissed her on the cheek. "I can wear another shirt. You're right, you've been home all day working your feet off." He looked at her. Lorelai stared stiffly ahead, as unresponsive as a statue. Resignedly, Chris let go of her. "Don't worry about supper. I'll order something before I go."

Lorelai didn't answer. Chris looked back at her as he buttoned another shirt in front of the mirror. "Okay?"

"Whatever you say," said Lorelai, slamming the iron down on the ironing board and wincing at the small burnt spot she'd inadvertently left on one of Chris' shirts. If she wasn't meant to do laundry, she definitely wasn't meant to iron shirts. Prior to marrying Chris, she could have probably counted on one hand the times she'd used an iron—and most of those times had ended with the clothes looking worse than they had pre-ironing. Out of the blue, it occurred to Lorelai that she was pretty sure flannel didn't need ironing.

Christopher, obviously completely unaware of her irritation, was grimacing as he buttoned his shirt in front of the mirror. He managed to force the top button through the buttonhole. "Oh, uh, Lor…"

Bitterly, Lorelai thought that she was one hundred percent sure the men who wore flannel also washed and ironed their own dress shirts when they needed them. She yanked another shirt off a hanger. "If this sentence includes the word 'laundry', don't even think about it."

"No laundry. The word laundry will not cross my lips again until 2009."

"Ha. Just so you know, that was a forced, un-funny ha."

"I noticed. Um—I just need to know again—my watch…"

Lorelai tossed it on the bed. "Your watch is here, your shirts are here, your jacket which you haven't mentioned yet but which you definitely will is here." She shoved the jacket at him. "Now go. Go, and don't come home tonight."

Standing in the doorway, jacket in hand, Christopher looked at her. "Lor…"

"'Cause if you do, I will kick you back out."

Chris cocked his head. "Lorelai…"

"I mean it."

She gave him a light push on the chest, at which Chris, startled, took two steps backwards and out of the room. Lorelai shut the door in his face, held the knob, and waited. After a minute, there was a knock. Lorelai opened the door. Chris, wearing a look of suppressed amusement despite his unsmiling face, was standing in the doorway. He opened his mouth, and she shut the door again, locking it. She waited another minute or two. Then, curious, she opened the door again. The hallway was empty.

Wearily, Lorelai sank down on the bed. Laundry, some ironed and some heaped in a laundry basket, was strewn everywhere around her. She didn't care. With Christopher she sometimes felt like she was dealing with a third child—or fourth, if she were going to count the one she'd been carrying around every day for months. It was too much. She wished she were married to a more compassionate husband--a strong, silent type who wouldn't make her lift a finger in her condition, and would immediately see that she was having a stressful day and console her. Instead, she was stuck with an overgrown child who apparently couldn't even dress himself.

Lorelai's thoughts turned to Luke, as they had more and more frequently over the past few weeks. Luke had always been patient, always attentive, had always thought of her before himself. She remembered. She remembered the Santa burger, the skating rink, the wonderful coffee every morning, the way he'd growled about the snow but still grudgingly obeyed when she'd told him to come out and watch it. Some of those memories always returned around this time of year. The bad times, the frustrations and tears and multiple break-ups, faded away, but the fond memories remained. She remembered how sweet Luke was, how he would dote on her without asking for anything in return. That was classic Luke: he had always been that way. And Christopher had always been—well, a little childish. Lorelai sighed and turned her head towards the window.

She was forty, a married woman. Since the events of a few years ago, she'd vowed to be more mature, more reasonable, less impulsive and self-centred. In her better mind, she knew thoughts like this weren't constructive. Pensively, Lorelai turned her wedding band around her finger. Sometimes, though she couldn't help wishing…

She swung her legs up to the bed and lay down, propping herself up on her arm to look out the window better—and think more clearly. As enticing as the fantasies were, she knew she didn't want Luke anymore. They hadn't worked the first time, or the second time—or the third. She didn't love him anymore, if she had ever loved him the way he deserved. If Luke ever came back to Stars Hollow in reality, she might give him a second glance, but it wouldn't be a serious one.

But did she want Christopher? Lorelai sniffled self-pityingly. Was this all she was meant to be—a wife and mother wading through mountains of laundry, while everyone else capered in and out of her life without a care in the world and without a thought for her? Sure, she loved Chris. She wasn't going to play games and deny that anymore. But did she love him enough? Sometimes she really felt that he was a child who wanted her to take care of him, rather than taking care of her the way she deserved. At times like this Lorelai couldn't help wondering if the way Christopher used to be in her life hadn't been better—here today, gone tomorrow, with no obligations on her side or his. Maybe she just liked Christopher best in small doses.

She turned her head back to the window. Outside it was a chilly grey day, yet the diluted light of a pale winter sun still shone through the heavy clouds. In frustration, she swiped the back of her hand across her damp eyes. Maybe she was being immature and spoiled and selfish, but she didn't care. What was so wrong with wanting someone who would love her unconditionally and without making demands of her—a handsome hero who would sweep in and rescue her, understand her, take care of her? Was Christopher really enough for her? She'd doubted that all along, and maybe she'd been right. What would it feel like if Christopher took her at her word and stayed away and didn't come back?

She watched the clouds, dark and heavy with snow, roll slowly by outside. The dim light of the sun, dropping near the horizon, still glowed through a crack in the clouds. Somehow the scene was vaguely familiar, not because it was a replica of a thousand other December scenes, but because the scene suddenly reminded her of one particular December afternoon…a long time ago. _A grey sky and pale sun through the window…around Christmas time… _Lorelai's thoughts ran together as she grew drowsy and inevitably, her eyes closed…

* * *

The winter sun broke weakly through the kitchen window, casting shadows on the kitchen floor, as the phone rang. A clatter from the other end of the house broke the late afternoon peace. Swearing under her breath, Lorelai Gilmore, half-dressed and holding a towel around her head, jerked the phone off the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Lorelai, it's your mother. Don't hang up…"

Lorelai, holding her arm out to prevent a gooey mixture from sliding down her arm to the floor, gritted her teeth and sighed. "Mom, unless this is an emergency I don't have time."

"Lorelai, just—"

"As in I really, truly do not have time. I just washed my hair and at this moment there is raw egg sliding down my arm…"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Lorelai, haven't you ever heard of shampoo?"

"But it doesn't make your hair nice and shiny and squeaky clean," Lorelai answered, stretching the telephone cord and grabbing a paper towel to mop up her arm. "Plus, that is the least of my troubles. Either I bought milk past the expiry date this week, or the laundry in my hamper has fermented, because there is a very weird odor in this house, and until I track down the source of this smell I am not going to be in a conversational mood."

There was a brief pause, and Lorelai sensed that her mother was counting to ten before she said something that would definitely end the conversation. Emily spoke again, her voice carefully controlled this time. "Well, it won't be a long conversation. Lorelai, I know that things aren't good between us, but I'd like us to put our differences aside and invite you to the Christmas party this year."

"Oh, thanks for the invitation, Mom."

"Good. So you'll come?"

"Uh, I wish I could, but my teaspoons really need polishing."

"Lorelai…"

"I mean, how can I entertain the DAR with black teaspoons? Even you have to admit Emily Post would have a fit."

"I don't expect any member of the Daughters of the American Revolution is likely to be visiting your little hamlet in the near future."

"Of course not, what was I thinking? That would be like Tony Bennett stooping to visit Kurt Cobain."

"Who?"

"Kurt Cobain. He's a, you know…"

"Lorelai, I just want an answer to my question. Can you come?"

"Mom, I have Rory. I can't just find a babysitter just like that. Oh, actually, I could drop her off with that lady who lives a few streets down, the one who's on her third husband. Or is it her fourth?"

"You're not leaving Rory with anyone."

"Well, I'm glad you see the wisdom of my ways, Mom. And therefore as much as I'd love to come, I'm going to have to give my regrets. Okay thank you have a nice day."

"Lorelai. I recognize that I don't have any claim to you as a mother anymore, but I am Rory's grandmother."

"Unfortunately yes, last time I checked."

"I'd like you to bring Rory along."

"Look, Mom, I'll bring Rory to see you some time, I promise. But an nine year-old at an adult party?"

"You and Christopher never complained about coming to our Christmas parties."

"Well, the spiked punch was a draw."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Your father and I have never put alcohol in the punch. Now, you and Christopher did sneak away with our wine bottles on more than one occasion."

"Mom, if you think the mention of Christopher is going to put me in a better mood, think again."

"Lorelai, Christopher is going to be there and once in a while, it wouldn't hurt for Rory to see her father."

"Christopher is going to be at the party?"

"He's been invited."

"Well, Chris being invited and Chris being there are two different things."

"I'm sure if you called him and told him you were going to be there, he'd be there."

"I'm hanging up, Mom."

"I was about to hang up anyway. Make up your own mind, Lorelai."

Lorelai hung up the receiver and stared at for a few minutes warily, as though she expected it to jump out and bite her. Then she turned towards the window. Snow clouds were gathering, dimming the sun. Lorelai's eyes grew soft, pensive, no longer taking in the scene outside. On a whim, she headed to her room and shut the door. She faced the full-length mirror she'd bought at a garage sale recently. The frame was cracked and the mirror itself smudged, but it showed her what she wanted to see.

Lorelai turned in front of the mirror. The one advantage of being a young single mother with a busy, full-time job was that she didn't have time or opportunity to gain weight. Maybe her body was a couple of pounds heavier, a little more womanly: but by and large, it hadn't changed since she was sixteen. And, Lorelai thought with an inner sense of satisfaction, it had looked pretty good back then. She wondered how Chris looked now. She hadn't seen him in a year. Last year she had noticed little changes to his appearance—his jaw looked sharper, the stubble around his chin rougher, his body harder.

Lorelai looked absently at the mirror for a moment, no longer seeing herself, but picturing Christopher. She saw his smile, the sparkle in his eyes, the way he sometimes looked at her…Her heart thudded a little harder, jolting her from her reverie. In the mirror, she peered closer, checking her hair, her skin, smoothing her sweater and sucking her stomach in until she was satisfied. Yes, there was no doubt about it. The corner of her mouth curled up faintly in a self-satisfied smile. She still had what it took to make men look twice. She practiced a flirtatious expression in the mirror, arching her eyebrows, smiling suggestively.

Then abruptly, the smile vanished. Some part of her that was harder, older, re-awakened. Right now, she didn't have time to be going out on dates, and she didn't want to bring a new man into Rory's life, either. For God's sake, what had gotten into her? She glanced at the clock. It was almost three o'clock, past time to pick up Rory at school. It was definitely not the time to be thinking about men. She wondered if Christopher was looking for someone. Did he have a girlfriend? Lorelai shot one last glance at the mirror, smoothed her sweater for the sixth time in a row, snatched up her purse and hurried out of the room.

Lorelai turned her head away from the window. Slowly, she rolled off the bed. Her body felt stiff. She was only four-and-a-half months pregnant, and already she felt heavy and fat. She couldn't remember feeling this way so early with Rory. Then again, that had been almost twenty-five years ago. Lorelai shook her head and chuckled a little bitterly to herself. What kind of crazy woman had a second child when her oldest was twenty-four? She should be finished with this stuff. She stared at her body in the mirror. Not only did she feel fat and pregnant, but she looked fat and pregnant. Her hair was a mess, her face was tear-streaked, and her clothes were rumpled. She winced and averted her eyes. And this was just the beginning. At fifty, she'd still have a ten year-old. Trying not to see the unfinished piles of laundry all around her, Lorelai left the room, shutting the door purposefully behind her. If she left the laundry alone for a while, maybe it would grow legs and put itself away.

* * *

Lorelai was halfway to the stairs when she saw that Rory's door was half open. She tiptoed to the door and peeked inside. Rory was sitting at her desk, typing away furiously at her laptop.

"Big deadline?"

Rory looked up, startled. She looked back at the computer and went red.

"Uh, no, just stuff."

"Logan stuff?"

Rory shrugged sheepishly. "I haven't talked to him in a while. He thinks he's going to get a promotion."

"That's great."

"Want me to tell him congratulations from you?"

"Sure. Hey, ask him if he likes Chinese food."

Rory began typing. "He says hi back…hey, why Chinese food?"

"Odds are 99 to 1 that your Dad just ordered Chinese."

"Why?"

Lorelai shrugged. "Babe, I've known your dad a long time."

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Someone skittered across the floor.

"Gigi!" called Rory. "What did we tell you about opening the door to strangers!"

There was a pause. Then, "It's okay! It's Mr. Wong."

Rory looked at Lorelai. "Who's Mr. Wong?"

"There's the remote possibility she's talking about the paperboy, but eleven's a little young to be called Mister. Although it is a six-year old doing the talking."

Rory called, "Gigi! Who's Mr. Wong?"

"The man Daddy invites over every week!"

The door opened and the unmistakable smell of egg rolls and chow mein wafted up the stairs.

"Dad's friends with the Chinese food delivery man?" asked Rory.

Lorelai shrugged. "Anyway, who was right about supper?"

"Gotta hand it to you, Mom. Save some for me?"

* * *

Lorelai glanced at herself in the car window before heading up the steps, satisfying herself that every curl was under control. Beside her, Rory was trembling. "Mom, do we have to go to this party? Grandma doesn't like me."

Lorelai's lips tightened. "Grandma does like you. Besides, your dad's going to be here."

"My tights are itchy," sighed Rory, trying to keep pace with Lorelai as she strode purposefully towards the front door.

"I'm not a fan of itchy tights either," Lorelai answered, "but hon, Christmas is a special time. It means we have to put up with all kinds of painful things, like bad versions of 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' and your grandparents' parties."

They had reached the door. Lorelai looked down at Rory, whose expression was a combination of misery and worry. In a sudden wave of compassion, Lorelai pulled her close. "Cheer up. _Aladdin_ on video just went on sale and as soon as we get home, we're watching it."

"Really?" said Rory, brightening slightly.

Her back straight and her head high, Lorelai kept an arm around Rory as she marched up to the door and pressed the doorbell. Within seconds, the door opened, and as they entered, Emily's latest maid wordlessly took their coats. Lorelai gave Rory an encouraging smile and bent to tug her boots off, trying desperately not to fall as she did so. The second boot removed without mishap, Lorelai straightened—only to see her mother approaching. Emily's expression was cool, impassive. She greeted them smoothly.

"Hello, Lorelai. Hello, Rory."

Rory, standing prim and polite in her burgundy dress with the wide white collar, mustered a smile, although her face was white from nerves. _Who could blame her?_ Lorelai thought irritably. Rory only saw her grandmother once a year, which hardly made for easy familiarity, especially not with a figure as formidable as Emily. Emily stood an arms-length distance from Rory, eyeing her.

"Well, you've certainly grown since the last time I saw you," she remarked.

Richard appeared behind Emily, his smile amiable enough. "Hello, Lorelai. Rory, you're the image of your father at that age. Isn't she, Emily?"

Lorelai cast her eyes pointedly in the opposite direction, and then shot a glance back at her parents to see if they'd noticed. Apparently, they hadn't, since both pairs of eyes were still fixed on Rory. Lorelai exhaled loudly. Her parents didn't blink an eyelash.

"There's certainly a resemblance," Emily agreed, giving Rory the once-over approvingly, and then turning her eyes disapprovingly on Lorelai.

"So Rory, what good books have you read lately?" Richard asked.

"Last week I read _The Lord of the Rings_," Rory said. "This week my goal is three non-fiction books of at least two hundred pages each. I already finished _Anne Frank_."

Richard looked at Emily. "Did you hear that, Emily?"

"Yes. Thank goodness our granddaughter may have inherited her father's brains."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Christopher never read a book longer than the end of his finger when he was Rory's age."

"Lorelai, I think Christopher can speak for himself about these things," replied Emily.

Richard ignored both of them, turning back to Rory. "That's certainly rather grown-up reading material you're perusing there."

"I like to peruse," Rory nodded.

"I hope you're not too much of an adult to enjoy a good fudge brownie?"

Rory shook her head. "Not so far."

"Good, because I don't think I've passed the age of fudge brownies yet myself. Let's go to the kitchen and see what we can find."

Not unwillingly, Rory followed her grandfather, and they disappeared from view. Emily had disappeared in the opposite direction a few seconds earlier. Lorelai shrugged and smoothed her dress down again, privately hoping that her half-hearted attempt to diet in the last two weeks had removed any traces of the slight stomach bulge she'd noticed. She leaned into Emily's hall mirror, surveying herself. She had spent more money than she should have on the dress, but she thought it was worth it: a sleek sleeveless royal blue dress that stopped slightly above her knees, and a smart dark jacket on top with just enough padding to make her shoulders look square. Her hair was pulled back in a thick gold clip, but her brown curls still spilled out lavishly around her face and past her shoulders. She leaned closer to the mirror, tracing her lips with her finger to find any spot where the red lipstick ran slightly outside the outline of her lips, then batting her eyelashes and watching the rise and fall of her blue-tinged eyelids. Satisfied, Lorelai stepped back from the mirror. Tossing her curls, she wandered with studied aimlessness over to the room where the party was being held. Slowly her ears adjusted to the low roar and persistent tinkling of a Christmas party.

Entering, Lorelai saw a sea of salt-and-pepper heads, red clothing, and animated faces. Many were familiar; some weren't. She approached casually, making an effort not to appear as though she were looking for anyone in particular...which, of course, she wasn't.

"Lorelai, will you help me?" called Emily from a few feet to Lorelai's right. Lorelai turned. Her eyes travelled over the table, where a bowl of punch seemed to have tipped over. Miraculously, it was unbroken; but a crimson stain was spreading across the white tablecloth and carpet. Emily, a pile of cloth napkins under her arm, was frantically dabbing at the carpet. Lorelai watched, her eyes dancing in amusement.

"I thought I was coming as a guest, Mom, not your maid."

Emily ignored her. "Just grab some napkins and help me wipe this up. Goodness, this is why I chose not to serve alcohol at these functions. And then what does Jack Benson do but show up intoxicated anyway and knock over the punch bowl?"

Lorelai raised her eyebrows. "Mom. Jack Benson is never not drunk."

"You don't need to be so audible." Emily laid a wad of soaked napkins in the punch bowl and, hoisting it with a sour expression on her face, left for the kitchen. Lorelai knelt down and began slowly dabbing at the floor. She fingered a couple of fallen punch cups and rose to set them on the table.

"In trouble already, I see." said a voice behind her. Lorelai whirled around.

There, standing a few feet away from her, was Christopher, holding a half-empty glass of punch. "Hi," he said, smiling broadly.

She met his gaze. "Hi yourself."

Her eyes traveled over him. Her heart had leapt to her throat, and she could feel her pulse racing. The glass in her hands was suddenly slippery. She had forgotten what a trim figure Christopher cut. She had forgotten what a dazzling smile he had, or the way he was able to look at her as though she were the only person in the room. She thought she had been prepared to see him again, and as usual, she was completely wrong.

"You need some help there?" he asked, nodding towards the table.

"Nah, there'll be reinforcements any second." Out of the corner of her eye, Lorelai caught a glimpse of a prim figure in a spotless maid's uniform striding efficiently towards the table, a bowl of cleaning supplies in her arms.

"Excuse me," said an accented voice, as she brushed past Lorelai. Lorelai grinned.

"Impressive," said Christopher, downing his glass of punch. "You sure you don't want to apply for a career in fortune telling?"

"Not fortune telling, just knowing Emily Gilmore really well."

"Ah."

"She doesn't trust me with anything more complicated than napkins," Lorelai explained.

"Dish detergent, hazardous stuff," Christopher agreed. His eyes were fixed on her again. Lorelai felt uncomfortable and warm. She liked being in control, and she didn't feel in control right now at all. Her heart rate, her temperature, and the expressions on her face all seemed to have suddenly acquired minds of their own, to Lorelai's vexation. But she did feel suddenly very alive, charged with a heady rush of something vaguely resembling intoxication. Unlike Jack Benson, however, she hadn't drunk a drop before coming to the party.

"Um, so," she said, not liking the silence, "Rory is here. Dad has her somewhere, but I'm not sure where."

"Your dad brought her to me right away. Now I think she's in the kitchen getting fed by three cooks."

"In other words, she's in good hands."

"Seems like it."

"You look good."

"You look like you could use a few shots of gin."

"Is my lack of desire to be here that obvious?"

"Let's just say I've seen Oscar the Grouch look happier."

"You still watch _Sesame Street_, don't you?"

"Only when I'm home sick."

"To be home sick implies that you have somewhere to be home from?"

"I got a job. I start after Christmas. It's only thirty hours a week right now, but I'm hoping they'll be impressed by my stellar powers of responsibility and up it to forty hours in a few weeks."

"So what is this job? Where is this job? Is it the kind of you can tell the parents about, or is it the kind of job where you have to, you know, cover your mouth when you say the name and hope everyone heard Bank of America?"

"Believe it or not, it's a valuation analyst at a municipal property assessment organization."

"Hey, well, you know what they say, the longer the job description, the less work involved."

"Don't mock. You always knew I was destined for greatness. Plus, I'll be a lot closer to you and Rory."

"Why, where is it?"

"An hour away in Bridgetown."

"You're living in Bridgetown?"

"I moved into an apartment there this month. I can show you and Rory around tomorrow if you're free."

"Without going home beforehand to chuck all the beer bottles out of the window?"

"That's my offer."

Lorelai looked impressed. "I gotta think about this one."

Suddenly, something caught her eye. At the other end of the room, a petite woman with thick shiny dark hair and wide, luminous dark eyes was waving excitedly and approaching Lorelai.

"Uh-oh," Lorelai muttered. She leaned into Chris. "Do you think I can still squeeze out the bathroom window?"

Chris eyed her. "It's an option, if you want the fire department to cut you out."

"Damn." Lorelai checked back behind her at the rapidly approaching woman. She gave her glass to Chris. "If I'm gone more than twenty minutes, you know what to do."

Chris took the glass. "Call the police?"

"That's the second step."

"Distract and deflect. Absolutely."

"I love you, you know that?"

Christopher grinned boyishly as Lorelai, plastering a false smile on her face, sidled over to Jenny Alevado and allowed herself to be dragged to a corner of the room. There, Jenny proceeded to tell Lorelai all about her latest trials and tribulations with men. None of those troubles, apparently, had stopped her from running to another man whenever she found one available. Lorelai was bored within two minutes. After five minutes, she stopped listening at all and let her thoughts run along pleasant Christopher-related themes, such as the faint but familiar wave of aftershave she'd smelled when standing close to him, and the way her fingers had tingled when she had handed the glass to him and his fingers had accidentally touched hers...

Suddenly, Lorelai felt a hand lightly touch her back. "And here I am, the cause of all Lorelai's heartaches for the past decade."

Lorelai glanced up at him, her heart skipping in relief—or something. She tried to hide a pleased smile. Jenny stared at him. "Well, if it isn't Christopher Hayden!"

"The one and only," said Lorelai.

Jenny's expression oozed fascination as she locked her eyes on Chris. "My mom told me you were back in the area," she said.

"I bet she also told you he was going to be here tonight," Lorelai said sweetly.

"A little birdy told me somebody lives in Bridgetown," Jenny cooed, her voice softening into a feminine purr.

"News travels fast," said Lorelai.

"As of last week," Chris answered.

"Isn't that a coincidence?" Jenny gushed. "My friend's uncle lives in Bridgetown. We're like, best friends forever, so I'm like, always there?"

"What's your friend's address?" asked Christopher.

Jenny beamed. "It's—oh, dammit, I don't have a pen."

"I'll get one for you," said Chris. "Where do we find pens around here?" he asked Lorelai. Lorelai took the lead, and Chris followed close behind.

When they were out of earshot, Lorelai said. "Thank you."

"Hey, how do you know I'm not just enlisting your help to find a pen?"

"You interested?"

He shrugged. "Well, I might get lonely tomorrow."

"That's it, buddy. I'm coming over tomorrow."

"I thought protecting me from the clutches of Jenny Alevado would motivate you."

Lorelai smiled at him. Chris smiled back. They stood there for a moment.

"Tell me again, how old is she?" asked Chris.

"She was in our grade, but I bet she failed a couple before that."

"She looks like she's thirty."

"Now that's cruel."

"Admit it, you were thinking the same thing."

They were in a small hallway, out of both sight and earshot. The noise of the party was a distant hum. "So, I've got to apologize," Lorelai said. "I shouldn't have assumed you weren't interested."

"No, next time, please assume."

Lorelai fiddled with a napkin in her hands. "So, you, ah, seeing anybody?"

"No."

"That thing with the biker chick didn't pan out?" Lorelai remembered the girl at the Christmas party two years ago who'd seemed overtly interested in Christopher—and definitely not his type.

"Not quite," agreed Chris. "How about you? Is there anyone?"

"Well, it's not like I'm lacking in offers."

"I wouldn't doubt it."

"But none of them have met my standards."

"You have high standards."

"Maybe," Lorelai returned archly.

Christopher, standing across from her, braced his hand on the wall behind her. "I should just tell them to give you a couple of quarts of coffee. The first guy who figures that out is going to be a lucky guy." He gave her a smile, but there was something wistful in his[R16] eyes.

"You know me too well," Lorelai answered.

"I know what you like."

Lorelai's heart beat faster. "Yeah?"

His eyes softening, Chris took a step closer. Lorelai felt the blood rushing in her ears, the nervous rush of adrenaline through her veins, her muscles tensing. She felt the odd sensation of preparing to run away from something she desperately wanted. Suddenly they both heard the patter of feet coming around the corner. Both Lorelai and Christopher turned at the same time to see Rory running up, holding a sparkly bracelet.

"Mom, Dad, look what Grandpa gave me!"

* * *

"Lorelai," said Gigi, "you're just sitting there."

Lorelai was staring vacantly at the wall, fork poised in mid-air, a half-smile on her face. At the sound of Gigi's voice, the fork clattered to the table.

"Oh," said Lorelai, picking up the fork. "No, I'm eating."

"You're not eating." Gigi looked at Lorelai's unfinished plate of Chinese food.

"I'm thinking," admitted Lorelai.

"Oh," said Gigi, nodding sagely. "I can't think and eat at the same time, either."

Lorelai returned to picking at her food…and thinking.

______________________________________________________________________________

The morning after the party, Lorelai was tired. She and Rory had stayed the night at the Gilmore residence, and Lorelai hadn't slept well, although she wasn't sure why. Maybe it had been the sweet desserts, or maybe it had been the fact that she was in an unfamiliar bed, or the fact that Christopher had been sleeping in a bed across the hall from the room she'd shared with Rory. No, that shouldn't have had anything to do with it. Lorelai decided Rory must have been thrashing around in the night and kept her awake. She hadn't felt anything, but maybe it had happened while she was asleep.

Halfway to Christopher's ancient Volkswagen Rabbit, Lorelai started suspecting there was a hole in her logic somewhere, but her brain was too foggy to sort it out. Outside, the air was chilly, but not frigid. High above, the sun gleamed thinly above a rough crust of snow, sprinkled here and there with dull green grass. Christopher put their bags in the truck, while she and Rory climbed into the car.

"Where to?" asked Christopher, sliding, as they buckled themselves in.

"Ooh, are we going on a road trip?" Lorelai squealed.

Christopher checked his gas gauge. "We're going on a road trip as far this quarter-full tank of gas takes us."

"I should have brought my sunglasses," said Lorelai, squinting at the glare from the snow.

"I should have brought my _All the President's Men _to finish," piped up Rory from the backseat.

Chris looked at Lorelai. "They read that in third grade now?"

"Yeah, it's all the fluoride," Lorelai answered. Turning to Rory, she said, "'Cause that is totally what you need, honey, is more useless facts in your head on a holiday."

"Spare her, Lor, maybe she'll avoid my fate."

"Oh, Daddy, you're smart."

"See? Out of the mouth of babes. How is Daddy smart?"

"He gave me a description of all the VJs on MTV since 1981."

"There you go, who needs to know the current president of the U.S.? You watch enough MTV and you're an Ivy League scholar right there."

"Haven't lost your sarcasm, I see."

Lorelai grinned.

"Anyone want lunch?" said Christopher.

Lorelai looked at him. "We spent six straight hours eating last night, pancakes this morning, and you want lunch?"

"I thought you were the one with the bottomless stomach."

"Oh, it has a bottom. Just takes a while to get there."

"You got room for a hamburger and fries?"

"Yeah!" Rory piped up from the backseat

Chris chuckled. "Because clearly," said Lorelai, "we don't get fast food enough at home."

"It's comfort food," said Rory seriously. "We're not at home, so I need food that reminds me of home."

"McDonald's it is," said Chris, pulling into the parking lot.

"I wonder if they have new toys with the Happy Meal?" Rory commented as she hopped out.

Chris looked at Lorelai over the hood of the car as they both climbed out. "She seems to know what she's talking about."

"Hey, I'm just trying to cultivate good American taste," Lorelai answered. They were walking up to the building together.

"Well, this is about as All-American as it gets," agreed Chris. He placed a hand on her back and gestured with his other hand. "After you."

"Ooh, someone's remembered his debutante ball training."

"Say that word again and I'm not paying for your meal," Christopher answered, keeping the hand on her back as entered the foyer. Little shivers were running up and down Lorelai's spine, even though the restaurant was definitely warmer than it was outside. Chris looked down at her, and Lorelai's eyes met his. She gave him an innocent look. "Cotillion?"

"Don't," groaned Chris.

Lorelai just smiled.

* * *

Almost an hour later, Lorelai had found room in her stomach for a large Coke and French fries with lots of ketchup, and Rory was inspecting the puzzle book from her happy meal. As they were driving, Lorelai occasionally cast furtive glances at Christopher. Finally, he returned a glance.

"Tell me I don't have crumbs on my face."

"No, just making sure you're awake."

"I look asleep?"

"No, but I just heard this story on the news about this guy. He gets up in the middle of the night, dresses in a suit and tie and drives across two states. Then he goes into the river and when the water hits his neck, he wakes up."

"If I fall asleep at the wheel, you have my permission to steer us away from the river."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Christopher looked at her. "Just so you know, I'm not sleeping. And on the off chance that you get ideas into your head, I'm not letting you wreck this car before its time."

"Hon, glad as I am that you have a car to drive us around, this Rabbit's been living on borrowed time for five years."

"Hey Dad," said Rory, suddenly looking up from her toy, "is that a library?"

Lorelai leaned across Chris to look. "Well, it says Bridgetown Library on the sign. I'm thinking there's a 50-50 chance."

"I'm going for 60-40."

"Ooh, daring."

"Is it open?" asked Rory, her nose pressed to the window. "Can we check out their books?"

"You have books at home. Remember? Who had to help you carry half of them in the door?"

"I know, but I've never been to this library before."

Lorelai looked at Chris. "Libraries to our daughter are like restaurants for the true gourmand. She has to try each one."

"I don't know, honey," said Chris, "I'm not sure we have time to stop off here."

"Please, Daddy?"

"Oh, all right," said Chris, grinning as he made a sudden turn into the library parking lot.

Inside the library, Rory's eyes widened. She walked rapidly over to the children's section and stopped in the middle of the aisle, gazing around her in awe. She pulled a book from a shelf, opened it, and sniffed it reverently. Chris and Lorelai wandered slowly behind, gazing around aimlessly. Lorelai paused to look at a rack of magazines. Then she felt it again—the hand on her back. It rested there for a couple of seconds; when Lorelai moved slightly, it followed her. A tingle went up and down Lorelai's spine. Giddily, she picked up a magazine at random. She stared at the Archie comic in her hand.

"Okay, whatever anti-aging cream Veronica uses, I'm using it when I'm her age."

"Sixteen?"

"These cartoons were around when my parents were sixteen."

"I'm betting they'll be around when Rory is sixteen."

"Okay, next topic."

"Hey, sixteen's a great age for girls."

"Oh, you'd know from personal experience?"

"Maybe."

Lorelai's eyes met his, and she felt herself growing warm. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a round-faced librarian with long brown hair and wide, bespectacled eyes. She was watching them from a distance as she shelved books, her lips pursed tightly. Suddenly, Lorelai wished she and Chris were far from the library. Chris' eyes were still fixed on her.

"Mom."

Lorelai jumped, and Chris' gaze was broken. They turned to look at Rory. "Hon," said Lorelai, "warn us before you come along like that. People get heart attacks from shock, you know."

"Sorry, but look what I found?"

Rory held up a thick volume. Lorelai squinted at it, followed by Chris.

"_The History of the British Empire_?" She turned to Chris.

He shrugged, obviously proud, even though he was shaking his head in bewilderment. "That's what you do when you start reading Danielle Steel to them when they're three. It turns them off age-appropriate stuff for life."

"I was poor, I couldn't help it that I didn't have any other books in the house."

Rory gave Christopher's sleeve a polite tug. "Dad, can we check it out?"

"I think you have to have a membership here to check out books," said Lorelai. She looked at Chris questioningly. "Honey?"

Christopher just smiled. He was fiddling with his wallet. "I've been in this town for all of two weeks. Cut me some slack. How's your library card membership in Stars Hollow?"

"Just fine, thank you."

"Mom doesn't have a library card," Rory piped up. "I do."

"Touché," said Chris.

"Hey, I can't help it that those things cost fifteen bucks. You better have some money on you."

Chris was fishing in his back pocket. "Damn, I left my money in the drawer."

"Excuse me?"

"I was in a hurry this morning and I…"

"You leave your credit card lying around, too?"

"I had the good sense to cut up the last one when they started giving me these crank phone calls."

"Chris."

"I'm joking."

"I'm sorry, but we don't accept credit here," said the librarian, whose name tag read Elisabeth Peters. She was standing a few feet away from them at the children's book display, looking at Lorelai and Christopher disapprovingly.

"So let's go to your apartment and get some cash?" said Lorelai.

Chris took a step towards the door. "Okay. You stay here with Rory and I'll go home and get it."

Lorelai stuck beside him. "Do I look like the type of person who can sit in a library for an hour?"

"I'm not getting Rory back in the car for a half hour trip there and a half hour back when she obviously just wants to read that book."

Rory, rooted to the ground, lifted her head from page five. "Yeah, Mom, Dad, you go. I'll read."

"See," said Lorelai, taking another step towards the door.

"No, we shouldn't…" began Chris, looking back at Lorelai.

"Chris. It's a library. People who come here are thinking about Tolstoy and Joyce and the latest Baby-sitters Club book, not kidnapping little girls."

Chris turned to Rory. "You sure you're going to be okay, kiddo?"

"Uh-huh. Did you know that King Henry the Eighth killed his wife?"

"See, what did I tell you?" said Lorelai, gesturing to Rory.

"He chopped her head off," continued Rory.

"Thanks, hon. The French fries are settling so much better now."

"Any time," answered Rory, reading.

Lorelai turned to Chris. "You want me to stay here?"

Chris gave Lorelai a resigned grin. "Come on." He waved at Rory. "We'll be back in less than an hour and then you will have your card."

"And you can read about decapitated queens all you want," Lorelai added.

Chris looked at her. "Decapitated?"

"What? It's an English word."

Chris shook his head. "She's influencing you."

* * *

Christopher unlocked the door of his apartment and strode inside, with Lorelai following close on his heels, sniffing.

"This place smells good," she said. "For an apartment. It doesn't have that apartmenty smell."

Chris didn't answer. He was rummaging through a kitchen drawer. After a minute he slammed it shut. "Damn."

"Strike one," said Lorelai.

"It's a small apartment. There's only a few places I put these things."

Lorelai waited, not impatiently, as she looked around the place. It was small, the walls badly needed a new coat of paint, and it was a bit messy, but not as messy as she'd expected. For some reason she found it touching that Chris had a wilted poinsettia on his kitchen table.

Chris was looking underneath a stack of papers. Triumphantly, he pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

"What did I tell you? And just when you were about to say strike two."

Lorelai looked indignant. "I was not about to say any such thing."

"What was the word forming on your lips, then?"

"Sss…Sookie."

Chris looked bewildered. "Isn't that what they say to call cows?"

"No, did I ever tell you about Sookie, this girl I met in Stars Hollow?"

"No. Provided you didn't just create her out of your active imagination, what about Sookie was so pressing that you had to tell me right now?"

"She, uh, she makes coffee. Great coffee. Coffee that can keep me going from six a.m. to midnight."

"It wouldn't take much."

"So, you got your money?"

"I do. You want to get going so we can see Rory's face light up?"

"We don't have to rush. You could show me around."

"Well, there's not much to see, but here you go. Kitchen." He gestured with a sweep of his arm around the room.

"I gathered that from the fridge and the thing with the burners."

Chris led her through a doorway. "Living room."

"The opposite of dying room."

"Still have your interesting way with words," Chris commented.

"I swear they shouldn't have passed me up as the writer for Page Six. I would have added something to their bland reporting."

"That would have required you to actually apply."

"I was fifteen, I thought they'd probably tell me to go back to school."

Chris ushered her through the living room and switched on a light in a small room to the left. "Bedroom."

"Surprisingly tidy."

"My sixth sense told me to make up the bed before I left."

"You ever think about a career as a psychic?"

"And bathroom."

Lorelai noted the way the toilet, vanity and shower were wedged close together. "With no bath."

"Just the way I like it."

Chris switched off the light, and they returned to the living room. "Nice place," Lorelai remarked.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's exactly the way we always planned. Minimum of furniture, and enough rooms to count on one hand."

"The opposite of the Hayden and Gilmore residences."

"Seriously, I'm impressed."

"_Better Homes and Gardens_ would probably toss out everything including the kitchen sink, but I like it."

"It's comfortable. Homey."

"You have your own adult life in Stars Hollow and here I am, like a kid with his first apartment."

"You are a kid. More or less. You're twenty-five."

"You have your own place with Rory."

"I call it the Crap Shack."

"Still."

"Hey, if you ever wanted me to redecorate for you…"

"I don't trust your taste."

"What?"

"Does painting my Fisher Price people pink mean anything to you?"

"Come on, it took years off them!"

"They were male."

"Pink was in for men back then."

"All right, you can decorate. Just go easy on the feminine colors."

"Oh, you're gonna love it."

Chris was looking at his watch. "Okay, we should get going."

"Yeah." Chris was near the door, but Lorelai was hanging a few feet back, apparently in no hurry to leave. She fingered the coffee maker on the counter approvingly. "Unless you want to show off this baby for me?"

"You like it? Shiny, yellow, makes eight cups at a time?"

"For the true caffeine addict."

"Made especially for someone like you."

"Is that an invitation?"

"You want some coffee?"

"Now that you mention it…"

"You've been ogling that machine ever since we walked in the door," said Chris, opening a cupboard door.

"I need coffee after yesterday," Lorelai replied, a whine in her voice. Chris, scooping coffee from a tin, didn't answer. She paused, leaning against the counter, watching him. "At least you were there," she said more gratefully.

"I wouldn't have been anywhere else. You and Rory afterwards made up for it."

"You think she had fun?"

"She looked like she did."

Lorelai studied him. "She looks more and more like you all the time, you know?"

"She's got your brains."

"I never read _All the President's Men_ when I was her age. I never got beyond Archie."

"Well, you're doing something right, because she's got brains."

Lorelai played with a slightly dirty dishrag hanging over the sink, studying it. "It's nice, being together, the three of us. We should do it more often."

"I definitely wouldn't say no to that," said Chris, pouring water into the machine.

"If you ever get tired of just traveling around, you could stop in some time."

Chris faced her. "What would you say if I told you I'm tired of it now?"

"I'd tell you to go get that problem with your head checked out."

"The first few years it's kind of fun. After a while, it wears off."

"Yeah, well, being an adult's not exactly Disneyland."

"Lor, I'm sorry. I know I haven't been there for you. I wish you didn't have to work so hard."

"No. It's just how things have to be."

"You know, I'm serious about this job."

She looked at him. "You really want to be settled down in one place, doing one thing the rest of your life?"

He shrugged. "It's like winter, it's got to come sooner or later. After a while you realize it's not so bad."

"Winter's not bad, at least if there's snow."

Chris chuckled and leaned back against the sink beside her, studying her face. "You still love snow."

"Snow and I, we've got a bond." Lorelai sighed, her eyes blinking wearily for a minute. Chris chuckled and opened his arms, and she willingly leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "God, I wish it was Christmas for another week and I wouldn't have to work for a couple of days."

"You need a break," said Chris, gently wrapping his arms around her.

"Just standing here like this with you is a break."

She relaxed against him as he held her. Chris began rubbing her back gently.

"That feels nice. Don't stop," she sighed. Chris continued stroking her back, and with another sigh of pleasure, she closed her eyes.

After a minute, Lorelai shifted, and Chris' hands stopped. Lorelai opened her eyes to find him looking at her, and her heart began beating faster in expectation. She tried to think of Rory, the coffee, the apartment, Rory—but her mind couldn't concentrate on anything except Christopher in front of her, his arms around her, the heat of his body near her. Dimly, she realized that he was also looking at her as though there was nothing else in the room. She closed her eyes again and tilted her head upwards. In a second, she felt Christopher's lips on hers, kissing her softly, tentatively, making her lips tingle. Yearning for more, Lorelai caught his mouth as it withdrew, and his mouth crushed against hers hungrily. Lorelai moaned slightly, pressing her body into his, feeling his hand tighten around her back. The room seemed to recede around her until she couldn't see or hear or feel anything except Christopher, couldn't think of anything except how close she was to him. She ran her hand up and down the back of his neck and his head, feeling the soft waviness of his hair, answering his kisses with more urgent kisses. This felt so good, so familiar, so right, that she couldn't understand how she could possibly have gone years without him. Dimly, Lorelai thought there was a good reason why she shouldn't be here in Christopher's arms right now, but she couldn't remember it. After a long kiss so intense neither of them could breathe, they broke apart, their hearts racing. Chris looked at Lorelai uncertainly.

"Turn off the coffee," she said.

His expression relaxing, Chris reached over and flicked the switch to the off position, and then, with a smile, he took her back into his arms. He kissed her deeply, his hands running up and down the sides of her body, then moving upwards to the front of her sweater, sending a shudder of electricity through her. Impatiently she found the front of his shirt, quickly undoing the buttons. Christopher's left hand slid down to the bottom of her sweater and slipped underneath, sliding over her stomach and gliding enticingly higher. Unable to stand it anymore, Lorelai turned in his arms and leaned back against him.

"I've been thinking about this," she said breathlessly, arching her back in response to the nuzzling pressure of his mouth at the base of her neck and the sensation of his fingers on her bare back. "Me too," he managed as he pushed her sweater upwards with one hand and unzipped her skirt with the other. The skirt slid easily down, and Lorelai raised her arms, letting Chris pull her sweater up over her head before she turned back around. His eyes widened when he saw her, but she barely paused, helping him shrug out of his own shirt. He yanked his undershirt off and looked at her briefly, hungrily, before pulling her close to him. Lorelai gasped at the contact of his skin on hers.

"Chris," she moaned. In response, he kissed her so passionately that she could barely breathe.

"Come on," he grinned, when they came up for air. Her face breaking into a smile, Lorelai let Chris steer her to the doorway of his bedroom. They stumbled through the doorway, kissing and touching. Lorelai's heart was pounding in her ears, her body aching for closer contact as her hands slid impatiently around his neck and down his bare back. She fell back on his bed, her long legs dangling over the edges, waiting for Christopher to join her. He knelt down, facing her, and looked at her for a minute with a new expression she couldn't read. Then he bent and kissed her. The kiss was long, lingering, full of a tenderness she hadn't anticipated. When he leaned back, she reached eagerly for the zipper of his pants. Chris' hand suddenly closed around hers.

"Lor," he said, his face troubled, "What about Rory?"

She ran her free hand down his chest. "She'll be fine. We could leave her there for two hours and she wouldn't know the difference."

Chris' worried expression broke into a slow smile, and quickly unbuckling his belt, he pulled his pants off and climbed on to the bed beside her, watching her smile mirror his.


	2. Chapter 2

Lorelai was lying beside Chris, smiling contentedly. He raised his head to look at her, and she turned to him.

"So, tell me why we didn't do this before now," she sighed.

Chris grinned. "As long as it was worth the wait." He lay back down, his heart struggling with unfamiliar emotions, his mind trying to process new thoughts. When they'd done this as teenagers it had been exciting, wonderful, but this had been different. Somewhere between then and now, she'd gone from a girl to a woman—not just physically, but in some other way he lacked the words to define. Maybe he'd changed too, because this afternoon no longer felt like a one-time event. They'd just shared something amazing and real together. He leaned over her and kissed her, his heart beating a little faster when she lifted her arms and linked them around his neck.

"You're beautiful," he murmured.

Lorelai's gaze flickered down to his chest and arms appreciatively. "You don't look so bad yourself." Her hands fell back to the covers, her eyes flickered more slowly, and finally closed.

Chris chuckled. "You falling asleep?"

She sighed. "No." With closed eyes, she added, "I only got up at six this morning. Five yesterday morning. Five the morning before that, and the morning before that and the morning..."

"Stop!" Chris groaned, sinking back down on his side of the bed. "You're making me tired by association."

"And every night I went to bed after eleven."

He looked at her. "Go to sleep."

She waved him off. "Can't. Rory."

He leaned over her. "I will pick up Rory and by the time we get back here, you will have had your beauty sleep."

"No!" she groaned, opening her eyes and sitting up. Chris watched her amusedly. Five seconds later, Lorelai's head was back down on the pillow. "Five minutes."

Chris pulled the covers up around her and kissed her on the cheek. "Good night."

Lorelai's eyes opened, then closed. She snuggled into the pillow. "Okay, maybe ten."

Chris was beside the bed, dressing. "See you when I get back," he said from the doorway.

"You don't have any alarm clocks in this place, do you?" she asked.

"Do I look like the kind of guy who keeps alarm clocks?"

"Okay, good, because they might have be dead when you got back."

"Trust me, you would have done the world a service," Chris answered. He paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of Lorelai curled up under his comforter, the dark thick waves of her hair spilling over the pillow. She looked like she belonged there, the outline of her form molding perfectly into his bed. For a second, he imagined that they were living together. It was morning, and while he left for work, Lorelai, safe and secure, caught a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Happiness and longing combined and stirred within him, and he returned to reality, studying Lorelai. Her eyes were closed. Smiling, Chris stepped out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Lorelai shook herself. Somehow, the plate of food in front of her was almost empty. She looked up and scanned the room, realizing she was alone. The sky through the windows was dark, and the lights were off in the living room. An empty plate, presumably Gigi's, was sitting on the counter; and the full plate for Rory that had been sitting there was gone. Lorelai shook her head again. What kind of daydream had she slipped into? She didn't understand how her thoughts had gone there. She scraped the bottom of her plate and shoveled the last remnants of rice in her mouth. It was good. Familiar. For some reason, it reminded her of Chris.

She looked at the clock. She'd been sitting here in the dark for almost an hour. Christopher was probably in the middle of his dinner now. She wondered if he would come home. She didn't know why she wanted him home. He'd just toss his tie casually on a chair, plop down on the couch beside her, wrap his arm around her, and start watching TV, assuming she'd have time to do the same. He wouldn't care that she had laundry to put away.

There was a lonely, sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Much as she hated to admit it, she recognized the feeling. It was the same feeling she had every time Chris was gone and she wasn't sure if he would come back. Every time, she tried stubbornly to attribute the feeling to every other cause under the sun; and every time, deep down she knew the real reason.

Unconsciously, Lorelai moved her hand downward to her swelling stomach. Her thoughts fled back to the day she had had found out she was pregnant with Rory. She remembered every detail of that day and every feeling—the first initial sense of utter panic, and then the steely determination that had followed almost immediately afterwards. She remembered resolving, in the privacy of the bathroom once the last tears had been shed, that at least this child would be completely hers. She was going to raise this baby the way she wanted, and neither her parents nor anyone else would be able to tell her what to do.

In the middle of her thoughts, Lorelai felt a faint, light fluttering movement inside her, and a little chill ran up and down her spine. The memories were poignant, but distant. But here she was again. This wasn't just a memory: this was real. She and Chris were really going to have another child together. She didn't know why she felt afraid. She'd raised Rory herself, without her parents' help and, when it came down to it, without Christopher's help for all the good his occasional visits did. And she'd done a pretty darn good job of raising Rory, even if she said so herself. There was absolutely no reason why she wouldn't be able to handle things on her own if, God forbid, Chris wasn't around to parent this second child, either. Lorelai tried to manage a rueful chuckle, but it wouldn't escape her throat.

She couldn't explain why, but she missed Chris. She didn't understand why, but she missed him every time he left. She wanted him home now. At the thought, the memories washed unexpectedly over her like a wave. Helplessly, Lorelai surrendered to the memories, and her mind drifted back again, finding her younger self…

* * *

Lorelai opened her eyes, feeling refreshed—but also disoriented. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and searching the room until she found Christopher's clock on his dresser. Four-forty? She turned behind her to glance out the window. The dim light of a December dusk had set in: the streetlights were glowing above the thin web-like carpeting of snow, and a waxing moon, faintly luminous in the blue twilight, had risen.

Had she really slept for nearly two hours? She pulled herself out of bed, shivering as the unexpectedly cool air met her naked body. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she scurried off to the kitchen to find her discarded clothes. She gathered them and ran back to Christopher's room, squealing slightly at the sensation of cold on her heels and toes. Back in Christopher's lamplit room, she quickly turned the blinds shut and dressed rapidly. Her clothes back on, she stared at herself in his small, smudged mirror. She looked disheveled, her clothes creased.

She looked exactly like someone who had slept with her ex-boyfriend and fallen asleep in his bed. Lorelai groaned. With the heat of passion spent and Christopher gone, she was disgusted with herself. The Christopher whose smile two hours ago had seemed so charming, his touch so warm and welcoming, now seemed like nothing more than an irresponsible half-grown boy. Why did she always completely lose her head around him? How could she have had sex with him when she'd promised Rory they would come straight back and pick her up? How could she have even let Chris leave to pick up Rory alone?

Lorelai wandered into the living room and sank down on the sagging couch, facing the window. Dusk was deepening rapidly: the whole world outside was bathed in blue-gray light. Lorelai picked up a newspaper from an untidy side table and picked it up. She scanned the headlines, and then, in seconds, her attention wandered. Dropping the newspaper to her lap, she looked out of the window again, absently. It had to be after five now. Where was Christopher? He should have been back with Rory at least half an hour ago.

* * *

For a half hour, Christopher had heard all about the ins-and-outs of British history from 1066 and William the Conqueror to about Henry VIII. Rory had been talking about it for much longer, but Christopher's brain had shut off around Katharine Parr. He was impressed he'd made it that far, but once the gory details of the two beheaded wives were over, his attention was lost.

"And did you know that they call the royal family the House of Windsor but it's really the House of Hanover, but they wanted people to think they weren't German in World War I?"

"Wait a second," said Christopher. He had pulled into the parking lot of the A & P and was inwardly cursing the two idiots who'd double-parked, leaving him only a small space between a pile of snow and a glossy-looking Jeep. He backed slowly into the spot, then parked. "I thought the royal family was a family, not a house."

"It's like their last name," said Rory. "So you'd be the House of Hayden."

"Just tell me you didn't learn all that in two hours," said Christopher.

"It was the abridged version," Rory answered.

Christopher looked at her and shook his head. "I knew there was a reason we wanted independence from that."

He shifted the gear into park and turned off the ignition. Together, he and Rory left the car and walked side by side to the grocery store, their breaths turning to vapour in the chilly twilight. Heavy clouds were gathering in the west, appearing to flatten the orange glow on the horizon. Chris and Rory hurried inside as the automatic doors slid open, breathing a mutual sigh of relief as they entered the heated foyer.

"Okay, kiddo," said Chris, "choose anything you want for supper."

"Can I get some pop tarts?" Rory asked instantly.

Christopher stared. "For supper?"

Rory shrugged. "No, just to eat."

"Okay, they're probably in that aisle." Christopher waved at a middle aisle, and Rory skipped off.

"Hey," called Christopher, "don't leave that aisle. I'll be there in a sec."

He wandered towards the freezer on the right hand side of the store, only vaguely aware of where Rory had gone. He studied the rows of frozen pizzas, with his hands in his pockets, wishing he could cook so that he could whip together some kind of gourmet meal that Rory would love and that even Lorelai would have to praise. Then again, that was one area where Lorelai couldn't upstage him. He knew she was no better a cook than he was—and probably hated it more than him.

Lorelai. He'd tried to listen to Rory's chatter in the car, but he couldn't stop the images of Lorelai from entering his mind. Memories that had haunted his mind for years but that had slowly faded were suddenly fresh again. The way she looked when she kissed him—the way she felt in his arms—the sounds she made… He knew that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to erase the images and sounds from his mind for days. Weeks. It was ridiculous that she still had that power over him, when most men had long moved past their high school girlfriends and were dating or had already married someone else. He knew that Lorelai thought he wasn't good enough for her, and she was probably right. And yet, if she would give him half a chance…

He wanted to prove himself to her tonight. He pictured himself coming home with groceries and making supper with Lorelai while Rory watched TV nearby. After supper, they could play a game together, the three of them, as a family, or watch a Christmas movie together. He had that spare mattress in the small second bedroom, the one where all his boxes were, the one he hadn't shown Lorelai. He could find some sheets and blankets and they could tuck Rory into bed together, the way parents should. And then while Rory slept…

Christopher stopped mid-aisle. Just the chance to enjoy Lorelai, to be with her without any interruptions…the thought was making him dizzy. It had been years since they had been together—and even then, they had always had to worry about being caught. Yet even those times had been some of the most memorable moments of his teenage years. He remembered everything—the way Lorelai was always talking, twice as fast and twice as much as any of the other girls in school, chattering incessantly away about her favourite bands and her favourite singers. He remembered the distracting way she had of tossing her hair, the way she looked at him coyly out of the corner of her eye as though daring him to kiss her. He remembered the thrill that had raced through him the first time they had really kissed, not just a quick peck on the lips, and he had held her and her body had relaxed against him as she surrendered to his embrace—and he had realized to his astonishment that underneath all the flippancy and bravado and the stubbornly raised head, Lorelai was an insecure teenager like he was. And she was looking to him, of all people, to make her feel safe and protected—and loved.

He remembered all the firsts they'd shared, and the first faintly stirring realization that he was falling in love with his best friend. He remembered the bond they had then, the sense of unbreakable friendship and something that went beyond friendship—a silent mutual understanding, a compact against the world, the sense without ever saying it in so many words that each of them knew the other better than anyone else did.

Who was he kidding? He'd tried to forget Lorelai, and succeeded surprisingly well most of the time, losing himself in other people and parties and adventures, being the fun, reckless guy who drifted through life without a plan. But every time he saw her again…

It hurt less to stay away.

He remembered the day Lorelai had announced, trying to hide frightened tears, that she was pregnant with Rory. That was the day everything between them had changed, and all the plans he was vaguely building in his mind had crumbled. Since Rory's birth, Lorelai had grown into an adult, while he had floundered. Yet he felt as though this afternoon, he and Lorelai had been on more equal footing than they had been for years. He finally felt almost like an adult: he had his own apartment and a steady job. And Lorelai, for the first time in years, had seemed almost vulnerable, almost willing to welcome him into her life. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but if Lorelai just gave him a chance, and if he could just get it together, maybe they could finally be a real family. His apartment was only forty minutes from Stars Hollow. He could drop Lorelai off at work and Rory at school before he went to work, if need be. His apartment was small, but it was cozy, and certainly no worse than where Lorelai and Rory were living now. And he had his parents' money, even if he didn't want to use it. What mattered most is that the three of them were together. They needed to be together: they were a family. Chris knew Lorelai might not see it that way right now, but he also knew he hadn't imagined the way her eyes had lit up when he'd taken her in his arms, or how willingly, even longingly, she'd returned his kisses.

He pictured the way he'd calm her down from any complaints that he was late when he came home tonight,; he pictured the way he'd silence her protests with a kiss and how, no matter what she had just said, she'd draw closer the way she inevitably did when they—

A resounding crash sounded from a couple of aisles away. Chris' daydream shattered violently. Struggling to regain his bearings, he suddenly remembered where Rory had gone. His heart sinking, he half-ran to the aisle. There, at the end of the aisle, Rory stood stock-still, staring at the toppled display of packaged snacks around her and, to Christopher's horror, several juice boxes that had been squashed and punctured. "I'm sorry," Rory squeaked, blinking at the grape juice dripping off her sweatshirt and oozing across the floor. Chris stared helplessly at the juice, the boxes, and the fallen display rack, trying to figure out exactly what he was supposed to do.

He looked at Rory. "Okay, uh, so, first things first. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Rory shook her head. Chris stared again at the mess. He glanced furtively around him. So far, so good: no one had come to investigate. As fast as he could, he began picking up the boxes of Pop Tarts, granola bars and other snacks, now soggy with grape juice. After a minute, he rocked back on his heels, surveying the damage. There were too many broken boxes and definitely too much grape juice. He cast a pained look at Rory.

"I wasn't gonna ask, but what did you do?"

"The Pop Tarts were on the top shelf," sniffed Rory.

He stared at her. "You climbed up the display?"

"Yeah," said Rory, "and then I fell."

Despite himself, a small smile lurked at the corners of Christopher's mouth. He had a joke on the tip of his tongue when he looked up to see a man in a dress shirt and pants looking down at them, his expression a combination of alarm and disgust. To Chris' own alarm, the man had a tag on his shirt that read: Ian Swinton, Manager.

Chris offered a sheepish grin, even though he was quaking in his boots—not metaphorically. He felt like he had when he was a kid about to get in trouble with the headmaster—only now, he was out of practice, having been out of high school for six years.

"Do we have a problem?" asked the man, clearly unmoved by Christopher's attempts at a boyish and innocent smile. Chris dropped the smile.

"We had a bit of an accident," he said, standing. "I'm sorry, sir. It was my fault. Just tell me how much the damages are and I'll pay."

The manager looked down, with obvious aversion, at the mess on the floor. He sniffed, and turned on his heels. "Wait here," he said, giving a backwards glance of real paranoia, obviously concerned that Christopher was going to flee.

Chris turned to Rory. "I'm sorry," she winced.

"Hey, it's not your fault," said Chris, putting an arm resignedly around her. "All right, maybe climbing wasn't the best idea, but hey, if I were your age I would have done the same thing."

"For Pop Tarts?" Rory queried.

Chris reconsidered. "No, but once I broke my arm in a fight over some licorice. I wanted to give it to your mom," he added. Over the intercom, both of them heard, "Clean-up, aisle six."

"Speaking of Mom," said Rory, "can you not rat me out?" She looked at Christopher hopefully.

Christopher rubbed his forehead. "We're not telling Mom. Call it a wild guess, but I think I'd be blamed for this."

"I won't say anything if you don't."

"It's a deal."

The manager came back into view, striding towards them with a clipboard and calculator in one hand. He glanced suspiciously at Rory and more suspiciously at Chris, counted the number of opened boxes very slowly and several times over, cast a look of abhorrence at the grape juice, and then punched a number of buttons on a calculator.

"Ten-fifty," he said. "Pay at the counter." He gave another look of obvious distaste at Chris and Rory, and then strode off.

"I'll pay the ten dollars, Dad," said Rory.

Chris was fishing for his wallet. "It's not going to bankrupt me," he answered.

Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he whirled around. A grey-haired man stood near his side, proffering a ten dollar bill. Chris stared wide-eyed at him.

"Take it," said the man, his eyes twinkling. "It's not going to bankrupt me either."

Chris looked down. "No, I can't—"

"I had kids once upon a time. Save the ten dollars and buy her some licorice."

"Thank you," said Chris with real gratitude, accepting the money.

"Thanks," parroted Rory earnestly.

"You're welcome," said the man, smiling broadly at Rory. "This is small potatoes. When I was sixteen I knocked down the store's glass candy jar and broke it." He bent and whispered confidentially in Rory's ear, "My girlfriend's dad owned the store. She still married me, though."

Rory grinned for the first time. Pleased, the man turned to Chris. "You her dad?"

"Although I'm not winning any world's best dad awards here," said Chris, his shoulders slumped.

The man laughed. "Trust me, I've been there. I have two daughters and a son. If you ever need advice, I'm in the coffee shop across the road every day."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing. It's my pleasure. She your oldest child?"

"My oldest and only child," said Chris, putting an arm around Rory's shoulder. "And her mom isn't going to be too happy with me when I bring her home with her shirt looking like that."

The man chuckled. "You'll be fine. I've been kicked out to the couch every few years since my wife and I got married and I'm still married."

Christopher didn't have the heart to tell the man that he only wished he were married. Actually, he wished he were with Lorelai. But it had only been a day, and already this whole supporting a family business seemed stressful, especially when he suspected that the mother of his child wasn't going to be particularly welcoming or forgiving when he returned home. Maybe if he got some guidance…if his dad were more like this man…

All he could muster was a sincere, "Thank you, sir."

The man winked. To Rory he said, "Tell your dad to buy you lots of licorice. But save some for your mom."

* * *

Chris pulled out of the parking lot of the hotel where his meeting had been held. He turned the windshield wipers on. It was snowing, but it was supposed to turn into freezing rain later tonight. The weather was miserable and the roads were going to be terrible, he had a headache from an agonizingly boring meeting and a piece of cake with cloyingly sweet frosting, and he just wanted to get home. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he remembered: Lorelai had told him not to come home. He chuckled grimly as he turned up the heater in the car. That was classic Lorelai. After forty years, Chris was used to being told he wasn't necessary or being outright kicked out, only to have Lorelai return happily to his arms when she was in a different mood. He was sure—well, ninety-nine or ninety-five percent sure—that this latest threat was completely empty. Even when Lorelai's threats were sincere—and they usually appeared to be—they were never permanent.

Still, he should be prepared to sleep on the couch tonight. Then, the next night—or the next, if she was really in a bad mood—they'd make up. Chris smiled to himself. It took a long time and a lot of persistence to learn the ways of someone like Lorelai. Ten years ago—even two years ago—he wouldn't have been so sure of a reconciliation.

Even now, he wasn't completely sure of a reconciliation. After all the years and countless failures, it was impossible to be completely confident. He didn't trust himself to be a good husband, and he didn't trust himself to be a good dad. He knew he'd done a terrible job with Rory, and still, more often than Chris liked, despite the good relationship he had with Rory now had now, the memories returned to haunt him.

His wife was waiting for him at home. Not his girlfriend, but his wife. And she was pregnant with his child. Chris shook his head in wonder. Sometimes he still couldn't believe Lorelai had trusted him enough to have a second child with him, after his near-absence from Rory's life and his pathetic attempts at fatherhood that had somehow always fallen short. And yet, she had. She'd married him, and while their marriage had a rocky beginning (to put it mildly), in the last year, he felt like his fortunes had suddenly turned. The gods had smiled on him and sunlight was raining down on his world. Lorelai had come back to him, and she was going to have another baby with him.

Sometimes, even at forty, he was afraid it was all going to fall apart. Even now when he knew better, when he knew how to distinguish between what Lorelai said and what she really felt, between her moods and her real convictions, sometimes he felt as unsure and unworthy as he had at sixteen. As he drove in the night, Christopher's mind wandered back across the years to the distant past, finding the long-buried memories. He wished he could only tell his younger self what he knew now…and yet he wasn't sure he would ever have become the person he was now without the hundreds of painful lessons he had learned first…

* * *

When Chris and Rory came out of the store, sunset had turned to darkness, and a fine cold shower of ice swept against them. Together they dashed for the car. Christopher unlocked the door as quickly as he could, and Rory slid gratefully into her seat.

"All right, let's get some heat in here," said Christopher, turning on the heat. Rory shivered in the seat beside him, rubbing her hands together.

Christopher backed out of their parking spot, swiveling in his seat and straining to check his blind spot in the sleet and darkness.

"Hey, Dad, it's six o'clock," said Rory, looking at the dashboard.

"That much closer to the minute your mom kills me for bringing you home late."

Rory wasn't paying attention as she played with the radio. "I want to listen to the news."

Chris pulled out of the parking lot, squinting at the slick snow-dusted road before him. "So we have two options: try to get home fast, or be good and drive slow."

"What are the pros and cons?" asked Rory.

"Well, if I drive faster, there's always the possibility of a fatal accident."

"And if you drive slower?"

"We get home later and your mom might kill us."

Rory looked at him. Chris looked at Rory.

"Drive faster," she said.

"All right, and if you see any cops, let me know."

Chris slowly eased the speed up until he was driving at the speed limit, despite the weather.

Rory looked out of the window for a while, listening to the weather report with its ominous predictions of an all-night storm. Slowly, the car grew warmer. Chris was focused on the road. He had to admit, the weather had worsened much more quickly than he had anticipated. Even though it was only six o'clock, it was fully dark, and the snow and sleet whirled down so thickly that he could barely see. Chris turned the windshield wipers to their maximum speed until they were streaking constantly up and down the window; yet it was growing increasingly difficult to see more than a few feet ahead, especially when the light from his headlights reflected off the wet streets. Part of him just wanted to slam his foot on the gas and get home as quickly as possible: his rational brain knew that it was a terrible idea.

In the background, Fields of Gold began playing on the radio, and Chris started to relax. The song reminded him of Lorelai and himself—but especially Lorelai—on days that seemed oddly long ago. He was slowly being lulled into the trance by the ballad-like notes of the song, the steady movement of the windshield wipers, the darkness around them, the slow permeating warmth of the heater. Minutes passed. Suddenly, Chris, observing a familiar intersection, realized to his relief that they were almost home. Almost automatically, he stepped on the gas, edging back up to the speed limit. On the radio, Sting's voice faded away, and the voice of the announcer said, "That's…

Without warning, the car slid wildly to the left, and Chris jerked the steering wheel to the right. A split second too late, he realized his mistake. The car was careening towards the edge of the road and a bridge that seemed far ahead. Chris thought they were going to slide into the bushes. A second later, he realized they were still going much too fast. His wide eyes glimpsed the railing of the bridge looming large in front of him, the road and the bushes blended together and the snow whirled in front of them, and his single thought was that death was staring him in the face. He was going to die, here, now, in an accident that was his fault, with his daughter in the car beside him and when Lorelai found out would she be sad at all, or would she hate him for killing her daughter, and would his parents miss him or would they say they'd expected it—The front of the car slammed at a sharp angle into the bridge. It ground rapidly against it for several yards, skidding with surprising speed along the edge of the road until, gradually, it slowed. With a painful grating noise, the car ground to a halt, facing the direction from which they had come.

Chris sat there for a few seconds, shaken, taking a mental inventory of his body parts and the way each one felt. He wasn't hurt. He didn't understand how he wasn't hurt, because he was sure the car was. He glanced over at Rory, whose face was white and her eyes wide.

"You okay, hon?"

Rory's eyes goggled ahead. "Yeah," she said in a small voice.

"You sure?" asked Chris in a small voice of his own, looking at her. "Nothing broken, nothing hurt?"

Rory glanced down at herself. "Um, no."

"So, I guess faster was the wrong option," said Chris. He looked at Rory, trying to crack a smile. Rory was still bug-eyed.

"We were in an accident," she said.

"The evidence is pointing in that direction," Chris agreed. He was starting to feel cold, and glanced again at Rory.

"You cold?"

"We were in an accident," said Rory, with more emphasis on the word accident this time.

Chris cast his eyes around grimly. "So, there should be some houses up the road."

"I was in an accident," muttered Rory again. "My life flashed before my eyes."

Chris gave Rory a pained look. "Rory, I'm sorry. This is the last thing I wanted to happen today."

"This is going to be the coolest story ever when I get back to school. Lane is going to be totally jealous."

Chris stared at her. Then he grinned, a bit wanly. "You got mittens? Warm boots? We might have to walk a few minutes."

"Hat, scarf, boots, mittens, check, check, check and check." said Rory. "Mom always makes sure I have that stuff."

"Uh, yeah, that would be your mom. Okay, let's get out of here before one or both of us freezes."

He tried to open the door, and found to his surprise that it would only open a crack. He pushed harder, to no avail.

"Uh, on second thought, why don't you get out first?"

Rory opened her door: it opened stiffly, and she clambered out. Chris climbed over the passenger seat and managed to extricate himself from the car. They were standing in the middle of the road. Christopher dared to look at the car, and winced. The front grill was torn off and dragging on the ground, the driver's door was badly dented, and the front tires were gone.

"Let's start walking," he said to Rory. They began trudging through the freezing rain. After a few minutes, Chris observed vaguely that his hands seemed to be blue.

"Where are your gloves, Dad?" Rory asked Chris.

"Uh—would you believe they're at the store?"

"You left your gloves at the grocery store?"

"No, the store where I was going to buy them tomorrow."

"Oh, Dad."

* * *

When Christopher opened the door of the apartment, it was dark inside. Lorelai was sitting curled up on the couch, reading an old _People_ magazine by the light of a lamp. When they entered, she jumped up.

"You're back!"

"We are back," said Christopher in a subdued voice, not quite meeting her eye. Rory looked equally furtive.

"I was worried sick about you."

Chris headed towards the fridge, shopping bags in hand. Rory, clutching a couple of books close to her chest, followed closely behind.

"We were at the grocery store," said Chris, opening a bag and inspecting its contents with deep interest. Looking very subdued, Rory stood behind him and matched his gaze.

"Do you know what time it is? Do you know what the weather is like outside?" Lorelai demanded.

Chris finally looked up. "Lor. I'm sorry."

"How come I wasn't in on this trip to the grocery store?"

"Uh, it was spur of the moment," said Chris, starting to unpack the bags. "Rory had a craving for—"

"Pop Tarts," said Rory, nodding earnestly.

Lorelai turned to Rory. "Okay, missy, why is your coat covered in…" Lorelai began brushing Rory's coat..."some weird powdery stuff?"

"Snow?" asked Rory hopefully.

Lorelai was vigorously swiping Rory's coat. "What did you do, roll in half a bushel of crumbs before you got here?"

"Anyone want pizza?" called Chris enthusiastically, making loud crumpling noises with the paper bags.

"Mom, it's really good pizza," said Rory enthusiastically.

"Yeah, let's get your coat off first and then we'll talk supper."

"I'm cold!"

Rory's protests were in vain. She managed to turn her back to mother as Lorelai pulled off the coat. She was shaking it vigorously over the floor. "Okay, is there a broom in this apartment?"

"Rory," said Chris, "listen to your mom. Get a broom."

"Yes, Dad." Rory hurried off into the hall that led into the bedroom and bathroom, trying to walk backwards.

"So, Lor," said Chris, "look at this pizza."

Lorelai's tone changed noticeably. "Okay, you brought me food, I forgive you," she said. There was a hint of flirtation in her eyes as she sidled over to him, smiling.

Chris looked at her with a smile of his own. "And believe it or not, I intend to cook it."

Rory entered the kitchen again, walking frontwards towards her father, obliviously assuming Lorelai was still at the other end of the room. "Uh, Dad, where's the broom?"

Chris whirled around to look at her, his eyes telegraphing urgent "no" signals. Rory's eyes widened and she quickly turned around, but it was too late. Lorelai's eyes were locked on Rory.

"Hey, Lor, and I even remembered your toppings, extra cheese with…"

"Oh my God."

Lorelai approached a fleeing Rory and took her by the shoulders, turning her around. "Why is your sweatshirt covered in about twenty different shades of purple?"

Rory gave Lorelai an innocent look.

"What did you spill on this thing? Van Gogh's entire palette? All the grapes in the universe?"

Rory cast a helpless glance back at Chris, who shot her an equally helpless glance back.

"I accidentally spilled a box of grape juice in the grocery store."

"A little bit of juice made your sweatshirt look like it just got tie-dyed?"

Rory shrugged. "Maybe it was a few boxes?"

"Okay, missy, I'm giving you five seconds to explain."

Rory cast a helpless glance at Chris. "Dad and I were in the grocery store. The Pop Tarts were too high, I tried to get them, stuff fell over. But I'm okay. Really. Can we eat now?"

Lorelai stood and looked at Chris. "What do you know about this?"

Chris was discreetly trying to put away food. "Lor. Rory's hungry, I'm hungry, you're in the emotional state of a starving grizzly bear…"

"Christopher, Joseph's Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat has nothing on this sweatshirt."

"Well then, let's sell it to Donny Osmond. Although there might be a slight sizing problem."

"This isn't a joke."

"Sorry, I apologize for my bad attempt at humor. But seriously, Lor…"

"Why was Rory pulling Pop Tarts from the top shelf of the grocery store?"

"I don't know, maybe she wanted to get them. Look, she's nine, she's not nine months!"

"And you were just going to walk in here and pretend it didn't happen. You and Rory, sometimes I think you're the same age."

"I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"Look, I was worried to death about both of you. I didn't know where the hell you were, you didn't call."

"Yeah, well, my car isn't exactly a state-of-the-art model, it doesn't come equipped with a phone."

"You could have told me you were going shopping before you left."

"I didn't know we were going shopping. Plus, who was asleep before I walked out the door?"

Lorelai's lips were pursed tightly. "We should go."

"Have you seen the weather outside?"

"You don't have to drive. I'll call a cab."

Christopher thought that on any other occasion, he might have tried to stall Lorelai, but tonight was an unfortunate exception.

"I'll pay for the cab."

"Mom, no!" Rory protested. "Dad and I bought pizza so we could eat it here."

"We have pizza at home. It's dark outside. It's late. We should have been home hours ago."

Rory reluctantly shuffled off to the closet. Lorelai remained at the kitchen window, gazing out silently into the darkness. A minute later, Rory, looking subdued, returned to the kitchen, her coat zipped up and her mittens on. She cast Chris a pained look. He returned an equally pained look.

Lorelai strained to see through the window. She was biting her lip. Suddenly she glanced over at Chris. "The weather's that bad that you don't want to drive in it, huh?"

Christopher thought for a second, choosing his words carefully. "I wouldn't drive in it if I didn't have to, that's for sure." He glanced at her cautiously.

Lorelai pursed her lips equivocally. "Uh—you know, on second thought, maybe the weather'll clear up after supper."

"It's a possibility," Chris nodded, his expression unreadable.

Lorelai turned to Rory. "Okay, get your coat off. We'll have supper here."

* * *

An hour later, Chris was on one end of the couch, and Lorelai was sitting somewhere in the middle. They had just finished watching an episode of _Full House_, and Rory was curled up in Chris' overstuffed armchair reading her book again. Lorelai rose to look out the window. Ice was tinkling against the panes, and from time to time the wind wailed around the edges of the house.

"Or, the weather might get worse after supper," Lorelai remarked.

"That was the other possibility," said Chris, appearing intent on the medical commercial on the television. Lorelai came back to sit beside him, looking at the screen. "So, I guess it's about time for me to call that cab."

Chris didn't say anything. Lorelai glanced back at him. "Hey, um—I'm sorry I got so upset earlier."

Chris shrugged. "I don't blame you. You left your daughter intact and I brought her home looking like she'd walked straight out of _The_ _Grapes of Wrath_."

Rory looked up. "Firstly, that is a gross exaggeration, and secondly, _The_ _Grapes of Wrath_ isn't about grapes."

Lorelai and Chris looked at Rory blankly before turning back to the TV. "It's just," Lorelai continued, gesticulating, "I was hungry, and I was cranky, cause I get like that when I'm hungry."

"I know, that's why I fed you."

Lorelai settled back more comfortably, then jerked forwards. "Oh my God, _Dr. Quinn_ is on!"

Chris narrowed his eyes.

"We have to watch this," Lorelai declared.

Chris raised his eyebrows. "You expect me to watch this show?"

"Come on. It's a show for men, it's got guns and Indians and people getting shot all the time."

"Mom, admit it, you only watch to see Michaela and Sully kiss," said Rory coolly.

"Who's Sully?' asked Chris.

Rory pointed at the screen. "Byron Sully."

"That's Sully?" said Chris. "What's a classy doctor like her doing with a scruffy guy like him?"

"He's not scruffy."

"His hair is down to his shoulders."

"It's the Byronic hero look."

"The man has stubble!"

"What's wrong with stubble?"

Chris gave her a look.

"As long as it's on the right guy," Lorelai added.

"Tell you what, I'll give this show ten minutes."

"Twenty."

"Fifteen minutes, and if it gets too sappy, I'm going to the kitchen."

"Aw, you're wonderful."

An hour later, Chris had survived bleeding soldiers, impassioned speeches, the repeated brandishing of Sully's tomahawk, and even a few passionate kisses, and he and Lorelai were sitting on the couch silently, the TV switched off and the ice still ringing against the windows. Lorelai glanced fondly over at Rory, whose head was still bent over her book. Chris followed her gaze.

"That's got to be one good book," Lorelai remarked.

"Or a good dream."

Lorelai grinned. Rory's eyes were closed. "Aw, she looks like she did when she was a baby. I hate to wake her up."

Chris was silent. Lorelai shifted, a bit pointedly. Chris glanced over her. "You know," he said slowly, "I've got an extra mattress."

Lorelai looked at him with real hesitation in her eyes. "Yeah? Where, stashed in your bedroom closet?"

"There's a room I haven't shown you. It's got a lot of my boxes and things in it now, but I could haul the mattress out and we could put it in the living room or something."

"Yeah?" She looked at him doubtfully.

"I mean, it's late, and the weather's bad, and we're nice and warm here…"

"Yeah." Lorelai bit her lip.

"Unless you think you guys better get home."

"No, I just, uh, I don't want to put you out."

"You're not putting me out."

"You're sure?"

"Lor. It's you and Rory."

Lorelai smiled tentatively. "We'll let her sleep for a while and then we'll pick her up and put her on the mattress. She won't even feel a thing."

"It's a plan," said Chris. His heart was pounding a little faster, not just from Lorelai's nearness, which was potent enough, but from what he hadn't told her.

Lorelai edged a little closer to Chris on the couch. "Thanks for dinner, by the way. It was really good. I give it four and a half stars."

"It was a frozen pizza."

"Hey, don't knock yourself. The last frozen pizza I cooked tasted like charcoal. Plus, you did make the garlic bread yourself."

"I did."

"I'm in a much better mood when I'm not hungry."

"I've noticed," Chris said, smiling.

Lorelai smiled back and sidled closer to him, leaning against his shoulder. Chris' heart began to pound and his palms grew clammy. He glanced at Lorelai's face, and saw something vulnerable and youthful there beneath the cool independent exterior. Suddenly he realized the reason behind her mixed messages. She'd been living in Stars Hollow trying to take care of Rory all by herself, with no adult company, for so long, and as precocious as Rory was, she couldn't always meet Lorelai's needs for adult companionship. All her talk about calling a cab was just empty words: she didn't want to go home tonight. In spite of himself, his self-esteem surged with the knowledge that Lorelai wanted him even if she was too stubborn to say so. But could she possibly want him as much as he wanted to be with her? His hands trembled a little. He didn't want to lose her, not when today had felt like they were on the verge of a new beginning.

He stretched an arm along the back of the couch and wrapped it lightly around her shoulders. Lorelai leaned back into him. Chris could sense that her body was slightly stiff, apprehensive, and yet she wasn't shrugging him off. He angled his face towards hers, and he met her eyes. Her face, with the dark curls framing it and the wide dark eyes, was so beautiful it took his breath away.

"Hi," he said, a barely audible whisper.

"Hi," she returned, surprisingly softly.

Their lips met in a kiss that shouldn't have happened, not with the secret that hung between them. But it was impossible for him to resist; it was though his body had a mind of its own. Before he could even think, Lorelai's lips had found his again with an insistent kiss that told him, in a way words never could, that she missed him, that she hadn't forgotten anything any more than he had—only buried the memories deeper. Christopher's hand was sliding up the front of her sweater. Being with Lorelai today had only made him miss her, want to be with her, a hundred times more. His hands found her thick dark hair and tangled through it as her hand cupped his chin lightly, drew him closer. His heart was racing, the thought pounding louder and louder through his head that this was wrong, that if he didn't stop in the next few seconds he was going to forever regret tonight, but he just wanted one more kiss. Lorelai's lips were smooth like silk and yet they made his own lips tingle with electricity, and he felt her shift her body closer to his until one of her legs was over his, and he couldn't breathe anymore because he was no longer able to think of anything except one thing, and if he didn't stop this instant he was going to… He pulled back.

"What?" asked Lorelai, her breathing rapid.

"I can't drive you home tonight."

"I know." Her face was puzzled.

"My car's in the shop."

Her jaw went slack. "What? Why? Why didn't you tell me this? Who brought you and Rory home?"

"We got a ride home."

"From who?"

Chris drew a breath. "We had a bit of an accident."

Lorelai drew back completely. "An accident? You had an accident with my daughter in the car and you're just telling me now?"

"She wasn't hurt."

Lorelai stared at him. "How do you know she wasn't hurt?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Lor, we were both wearing seatbelts."

Lorelai's tone suddenly reminded Chris of Emily Gilmore. "So exactly when were you going to tell me about this accident?"

"I just told you."

"Yeah, you're right you just told me and it happened hours ago." Lorelai dropped her head into her hands. "God, I don't know how I could have trusted her with you."

"Lor—"

"No, don't 'Lor' me. I don't know what was wrong with me, thinking you were maybe finally growing up."

Lorelai got up, turning her back to Chris, not before he caught the glitter of tears in her eyes. He rose, following her into the kitchen.

"Look, Lor, I'm sorry. There is no one who regrets this more than me. If I could go back and undo it I would, but people get into accidents in bad weather! A hundred people probably slid on black ice tonight."

Lorelai didn't turn around. "Yeah, well, you're the only one of those hundred people who had my daughter in the car."

"She's my daughter too! Do you think I didn't feel terrible?"

"I bet you felt terrible, and it sure didn't show when you walked in the door."

Lorelai was heading for the phone, and Chris followed her.

"Lor, I swear I was going to tell you, but the way you acted about that coat—"

She turned. "Oh, don't try to pin this on me! You were the one who got into an accident, you were the one who thought you could pull it over me—I'm so angry right now I don't even know what to say."

"Then don't say anything. Just—"

"No! I should never have come here. This whole day was a mistake. You're not ready to be a full-time dad."

"When am I going to be ready? When Rory's nineteen? Twenty-nine?"

She turned back around. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Look, Lorelai, I know I'm not perfect but I'm Rory's dad. She's nine years old and I feel like in a few years she's going to be an adult and I won't know who she is."

"That's not true!"

"That's how I feel. I want to be better, I want to be a good dad, but I don't know how to learn if you don't give me a chance!"

"I have given you plenty of chances, mister. I have never shut you out of Rory's life."

"No, you never shut me out. You just went to the hospital to have her without telling me, you moved away with her, you told me to go and do my own thing because you and Rory would be fine without me."

"I said you could come by any time you wanted. And do you know how many times you've showed up?"

Chris blinked. There was nothing he could say; and yet deep within him he had some small sense of injustice, an inexpressible conviction that this really wasn't all his fault, but he couldn't find the words to say what he felt.

"I wanted to come," he managed.

"Then why didn't you? Do you think I didn't want you there? Do you think I didn't ever sit there in that house all by myself at night and wish you were there with me?"

"Yes, of course that's what I thought. You picked up and took Rory and you never even left a note telling me where you were going, but of course I knew you wanted me there. Come on, Lor, I'm not a mind reader! If you wanted me why didn't you just tell me? If you just said the word I would have come, and don't try to pretend you didn't know that."

Lorelai was silent. Suddenly, there was a sound in the doorway, and they both turned. Rory was standing there, her eyes sleepy but worried.

"Mom, Dad?"

Lorelai and Chris looked at each other.

"Honey, we're going home," said Lorelai. "I'm calling a cab."

"Are you guys fighting?"

"No," said Lorelai, in a decided tone. Chris knew he didn't have a chance anymore.

He watched her dial the numbers. "Hon," he said gently to Rory, "Get your stuff."

"Did I do something?"

"I told your mom."

Rory glanced over at her mother, who was speaking rapidly into the phone, her back turned to both of them. "Oh," said Rory quietly. She glanced again at Lorelai, and then wordlessly slipped out of the room.

Lorelai hung up, grabbed her bag and her coat and began buttoning her coat.

"Rory! Come on! The cab's going to be here in five minutes."

Chris hung back, watching her. Finally, Lorelai lifted her eyes to him. "Lor…" he said pitifully.

"I'm not talking to you."

He followed her to the entryway.

"Lorelai, I said I was sorry. How many times do I have to…"

Lorelai faced him. "Look. What happened here, today, was a mistake. We're done. We're through. We were finished when we were sixteen, and today was just—old memories. Don't try to get in touch with me."

"So I can't even talk to my daughter now, because we're on the outs?"

"You can call for Rory. Don't you dare take this out on her."

Christopher tried one last feeble shot. "And us not talking, that's good for her?"

Lorelai didn't answer. She opened the door. Chris felt the chill of the air from the outside doorway below, but it was nowhere near as cold as Lorelai's tone, or as painful as the empty feeling of failure that was slowly settling into his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the first truly warm day of the spring. It wasn't quite noon, and already the house felt stuffy. Outside, the breeze was strong, whipping the curtains wildly and shaking the blinds; but the sun shone brilliantly and the sweet odour of spring blossoms and young grass was seeping into the stale rooms. Lorelai was going through the house, opening all the windows, when the phone rang. She grabbed it distractedly off an end table.

"Hello?"

Chris' voice was a combination of urgency and relief. "Lor, thank God I got a hold of you."

Lorelai's expression froze. "I don't want to talk to you," she answered, swiping a dated _People_ magazine off the table. She scrutinized the cover as though she was seeing it for the first time, staring wide-eyed at the news that Charles and Di had split up and Michael Jackson no longer looked like Michael Jackson.

"Lor, this isn't—" There was a note of desperation in Christopher's voice, but Lorelai cut him off.

"If this is about Rory, which is the only reason you should be calling me, I haven't kept her from you. She said she you visited her at school earlier this week."

"Lor, I've been trying to get a hold of you for three weeks."

"Chris, no." Lorelai moved to grab a small purple sock from under the table.

Chris' voice was frustrated, insistent. "This isn't what you think it is!"

"Well, then tell Rory what it is and we can talk through her."

"You want me to tell Rory I'm moving permanently to California?"

Lorelai stood still, her heart thudding. "What?"

"I got an IT job in San Francisco. Silicon Valley."

Lorelai stood rooted to the ground, her mouth hanging slightly open. "Oh," she managed after a minute.

"That's why I've been trying to call you," Chris said in a defeated tone.

Lorelai shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "So did you give a thought to your daughter when you decided to take a job all the way in California? 'Cause I know they start with the same letter, but Connecticut and California aren't exactly next door to each other. As much as I wish they were, especially when it's 20 degrees and there's no…"

"Lor, I have done nothing but think about Rory since last Christmas."

Lorelai bit her lip. "Chris…don't go there." Vaguely, Lorelai remembered that she was supposed to be angry with him, but her anger had mysteriously vanished. All she could think of was that the man who was her daughter's father and her best friend had just told her he was moving hundreds of miles away.

Chris sounded weary. "No. I've thought about it and everything you said was right. When I'm around, I only mess things up. You and Rory get along fine without me. It's better if I go."

Lorelai clutched the phone tighter. "No. Chris. I never said that!"

"You implied it. It's okay, Lor. I get it."

Lorelai's eyes flickered wildly over the room, but all she could see before her was Chris. Christopher, and an image of a U.S. map, on which California and Connecticut stood out in dark relief. "Come over," she offered meekly. "Let's talk things through."

"My flight leaves early tomorrow morning."

Lorelai felt as though she were sinking through the floor. "Come by this afternoon," she said, trying to steady the trembling in her voice, "and we'll talk."

Two hours later, Lorelai was sweeping the porch. There was an old catalpa tree in the front yard that dropped long, thick green seed pods every summer. Most of them seemed to fall on the front porch and driveway. Lorelai had been complaining about the tree and its prodigious offspring at work, declaring in a fit of annoyance that someone ought to cut it down, but Miss Patty and Babette had recoiled in horror. "The tree's been there since my grandfather was alive!" said Miss Patty. "Since my great-grandfather was alive," cried Babette, not to be outdone. So Lorelai continued sweeping up the debris from the tree and secretly praying for a lightning strike.

This afternoon, however, she wasn't thinking about the tree. The air was muggy, and though the sky was still bright, ominous grey thunderclouds were rolling rapidly in from the east. The humidity and slow overshadowing of the light matched Lorelai's mood. Even as she swept, she kept looking up apprehensively, first at the clouds and then at the road. She swallowed a few times, trying unsuccessfully to choke down the lump that had risen into her throat at Christopher's announcement. Despite the warm day, her fingers were cold as she gripped the broom.

This couldn't be happening. Chris couldn't be going to California. Her mind was racing through all the stalling tactics and flirtatious smiles she'd learned in her quarter-century of life. Maybe if she invited him to Stars Hollow more often…if she planned some father-daughter activities for him and Rory…then, even if Chris didn't show up or forgot or had something else to do, maybe he would feel more included in their lives. She _had_ kept him out. But he hadn't been ready…

If only she hadn't been quite so hard on him about the accident. The roads had been slippery, it had been dark, and…Lorelai's stomach twisted…it could have happened to anyone. For a brief second, she remembered driving to work this past March in the wet whiteness of a spring snowstorm. She rounded a bend…the road was icy…the car had nearly slid. Nearly. If she had been late for work…driving even a little faster…

She should been easier on Chris. He was trying, after all. She'd known that even when she had been furious with him. If only she had called to apologize sooner…if only she had thought before speaking and acting last Christmas. That was what had triggered this madness, this flying off to California on a whim. Lorelai expected Chris to be impulsive and unreliable, to lose jobs as fast as he picked them up, to drift from place to place without a plan or a purpose. But to actually pick up and leave, permanently—that was something entirely different.

_You sent him away_, a nagging voice told her. Lorelai winced. Then she drew a deep breath. If she had driven Chris away, she could also convince him to stay. It wasn't too late. She could still mend things.

She looked up at the sound of a motor and froze on the steps. An ancient Pontiac was approaching her house. It slowed and came to a halt, and immediately, the front passenger door swung open. Chris planted one foot on the pavement, still sitting inside as he spoke to the man in the driver's seat. Then he stepped out, slamming the door shut and turning to face the house. The car revved its engine and accelerated rapidly, driving away in a fine cloud of dust.

* * *

Chris stared at the house, taking it in with an absorption as all-encompassing as if he were a pioneer setting eyes on a settlement in the wilderness. _So this was where Lorelai and Rory lived. _He felt a fresh pang of guilt for not having been here before. The siding was old and in need of a fresh coat of paint, but it had a yard and a pot of geraniums at the foot of the steps and somehow, it looked homelike. Maybe it looked homelike because Lorelai was standing at the bottom of the steps, watching him, her expression pensive. He started down the driveway, and slowly, she began walking towards him. They met halfway between the house and the road.

For a moment, neither said anything. Finally Lorelai murmured, "Where's your car?"

Chris stuck his thumbs in his pockets and scanned the steps awkwardly. Finally, he raised his eyes to her. "The car never made it out of the shop."

Lorelai winced. "Oh."

Chris shrugged. "Well, it was coming sooner or later. It saw me through a couple-dozen road trips, my brief sojourns at several ill-chosen jobs, and one or two unfortunate brushes with the law. I'd say that car was on its ninth life."

"Hey, better your car than you. Rumour has it you only have one."

Chris smiled, but quickly. "Lor."

Lorelai smiled back at him. "You want to come inside?" she asked.

"I told Doug to be back here in half an hour if I didn't call first," Chris answered uncertainly.

Lorelai pursed her lips, twisted them thoughtfully, and chewed on the corner of one lip while her eyes darted around. At last she raised her eyes to him briefly. "Come in for half an hour, then."

Chris managed a faint grin and followed her up the steps and inside. He blinked, his sight adjusting slowly to the darker house. His eyes roved over the rooms, the color of paint on the walls, and the furniture. He was trying in vain to memorize the house, sensing with a sinking feeling that his first visit here could also be his last. In the kitchen he paused behind Lorelai, smiling faintly at the boxes of pop-tarts on the counter. Lorelai was rummaging through the cupboard.

"It's nice in here, Lor," he began.

Lorelai didn't respond. He watched her pull out several mugs before she found the one she was obviously looking for.

"You want some coffee?" she asked. "Or lemonade?"

He cleared his throat. "No," he said uncomfortably.

Lorelai turned. "No lemonade?"

"No, thanks. I don't need anything to drink."

"Oh." Suddenly animated, she gestured to the living room.

"C'mon," she said, beckoning to him to follow. "Let's sit down."

Lorelai sat, patting the couch lightly. Chris sat an arms-length away from her, his legs spread slightly apart and his arms resting on his knees. He cast a glance at Lorelai. Through the curls that spilled over her face, she shot a glance back at him.

"So, you're going," she said.

"First thing in the morning," he answered.

She looked at him seriously for a minute, her expression unguarded. There was a look of longing in her eyes. "California's far away."

Chris tried to look at her, but he couldn't quite meet her eyes. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Lorelai was going to telegraph mixed messages to him again, and he was afraid he was so weak that if he looked her in the eye, he would give in to whatever she wanted.

"I'll call Rory every week."

"It's not the same as seeing her face to face."

"I'll be home on holidays. I'll see her just about as much as I do now."

"Yeah." There was a pause. Lorelai bit her lip and edged nearer to him. "You know, you can come by any time you want when you're in Stars Hollow."

"Yeah, well, I haven't done the best job at that in the past."

Lorelai shrugged. "Hey, I didn't do the best job at inviting you in."

"Lor…"

"I'm sorry about last Christmas," Lorelai said quickly.

Chris chuckled grimly. "Don't be. Everything you said was true."

Lorelai sidled another few inches closer. "No. You're a good dad. You just need a little practice."

Chris looked at her, caught by surprise. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear what he was hearing. For so long he'd wanted Lorelai to give him a little encouragement, and now she was saying words he'd longed to hear for years. But he was learning that every time she let him halfway into her life, she shut him out again the first time he slipped up.

"Lor…do you want me to stay?"

"No!" She wasn't looking at him. "I mean…do what you've gotta do. It's your life. Don't let me interfere."

Chris glanced at her uncertainly. Suddenly, he felt guilty for planning to move to a faraway state without Lorelai when they had once planned to travel together. But she had told him to live his life apart from her, even to stay away from her. Did she resent him now for doing that very thing? Carefully, he tested the waters. "We were going to travel the world together. Remember?"

Lorelai half-chuckled. "Backpack Europe."

Chris grinned. "With our trusty _Myra Waldo's Travel and Motoring Guide to Europe_."

Lorelai laughed. "Yeah."

"And since we'd blow our life savings on plane tickets, we were going to sleep on a park bench."

"Correction: you were going to sleep on a park bench. I was going to sit in the best hotel Paris had to offer, sipping fine French champagne and gazing out at the lights of the greatest city in the world, envisioning the days of Napoleon and Robespierre."

Chris raised an eyebrow, and Lorelai laughed. Then her smile disappeared, and her eyes rested on him. Chris wasn't sure who made the first move, but sitting so close together was like magnetism. The first kiss was light, tender; the second deeper. As he kissed her the third time, Chris heard a little moan at the back of her throat. Against his own will, he reached out to grasp her around the waist and draw her closer. When Lorelai kissed him like this, touched him like this, he couldn't do anything but reciprocate. He felt her fingers running along his neck, then gliding down to his shirt and starting to unbutton it. Some vestige of common sense buried at the very bottom of his mind told him this wasn't a good idea.

"Lor," he rasped, through her kisses.

She lifted her lips from his for just an instant.

"Doug's coming back in twenty minutes," he managed.

Lorelai, apparently unhearing, trailed moist kisses along his neck and jawline. "Call him and tell him to wait," she said.

Chris felt almost dizzy. He tried to catch his breath. "Lor…what is this?"

"Nothing," she murmured, her gentle fingers cupping his jaw as she kissed it softly. "I was just thinking this is our last chance to say goodbye…"

With an effort, Chris drew back. "Lor, if you want me to stay…"

She didn't answer; her face was half buried in his shirt. Chris leaned back to look at her. "Just say the word and I'll stay. I'll move closer, I'll see you and Rory more often…"

She looked up, her hair tousled. "Do you want to stay?" she asked, her expression uncertain.

"If I knew you and Rory needed me…"

Lorelai's lips tightened. She started to pull back, but Christopher tightened his hold on her waist. He tried to get the words out as fast as possible. "I can still stay, cancel the ticket, and we can give another shot at this thing. Me being around every day, the two of us raising Rory together."

Lorelai struggled for a second and then stayed still in his arms. Dimly, Chris thought that she didn't want him to release her any more than he wanted to let her go. She drew a breath.

"Okay, you need to know, Stars Hollow isn't exactly San Francisco. Our entertainment consists of Taylor's long-winded speeches, the big annual re-enactment and a very occasional performance by the troubadour. And just between you and me, he's not Neil Young. Not to mention, the most nightlife we have here is when Miss Patty stays up after 11 and leaves the windows open so you can hear her singing in the bathtub, and she is no Susanna Hoffs."

Chris gave her a faint smile. Earnestly he said, "Lor, I don't need entertainment and I don't care about nightlife. When every guy in school was crazy about Susanna Hoffs, all I thought about was you."

Lorelai's eyes were wide.

"I'd get used to Stars Hollow," he went on, stumbling over the words. "I know I need to grow up some more, but you could help me. I'd get a stable job…"

Lorelai's face hardened. "Yeah, like that's ever worked for you, hon. You can't stay in one place for more than a few weeks. You hate being tied down. And as much as me and Rory are full of sunshine and delight all day long, we'd tie you down."

Chris didn't answer. He was afraid she was right, that he couldn't stay in one place for long. He was afraid that if he ever tried to live and work in Stars Hollow and support Lorelai and Rory, he would ruin everything. Better to go far away than take that risk. He looked at Lorelai, but she had averted her eyes. Christopher dropped his eyes to his hands.

"I don't know what to say. I wish it wasn't like this," he said finally, helplessly.

Lorelai's head shot up; her face looked stung. Too late, Chris felt that he had said the wrong thing.

"Yeah, yeah, well, that's life," answered Lorelai quickly. "So go, follow your dreams. Do the stuff we always wanted to do. Have fun." Her voice caught, and she cast her head in the opposite direction. "Send me a postcard with Hollywood Boulevard on it, or something like that."

With a sinking heart, Chris thought that he'd rather be there with Lorelai than send her a postcard. Traveling, seeing new sights, having new experiences didn't really mean anything without her. It couldn't. Lorelai was probably right: he wasn't ready to settle down—but it wasn't because he didn't want to. There was no place he would rather be right now than here, in Stars Hollow, tiny hamlet or not. The two people he loved most in the world were here. He took a breath, trying to voice what he was feeling, and then he exhaled again. Instead he said.

"So I guess this is it then."

Lorelai drew another deep breath. "I guess so."

Chris wanted to lean in and kiss her, but she sat frozen to the couch, several feet away from him, unmoving. He said awkwardly, "So, ah, okay—tell Rory bye for me...and—"

"Yeah, yeah, and I'll tell her you'll call when you get there."

"I will."

Through the window, they could both see the Pontiac come back around the bend, a fine cloud of dust shrouding it again. Lorelai swallowed. "So, you should, ah…"

"Yeah." Chris stood and she rose with him. Together, they walked to the door. At the door, Chris paused and turned to face her, his expression miserable.

"Bye, Lor."

"Bye. Have a great time, and good luck, and maybe once a week you could…"

"I'll call," he said.

They looked at each other for another few seconds, but there wasn't anything else to say. Chris opened the door and walked down the steps, turning for a brief unsmiling wave.

* * *

Lorelai saw him slide into the car without so much as another backward glance, and watched the car drive away under the glowering sky. Then she slowly turned and walked back inside. The house felt empty and dark, although it was still light outside. Inside, the air was heavy and oppressive, like the smothering weight of thick blankets.

Lorelai stood in the centre of the kitchen for a minute, at a loss. Pensively, she opened the freezer and dug out a container of ice cream. In a minute, she was sitting on the couch, her knees up around her chest, spooning ice cream into her mouth. It was creamy and sweet and familiar—but it wasn't comforting her the way she wanted it to. Tears were forming in Lorelai's eyes. Impatiently, she wiped them and sniffed, blinking fiercely. This was ridiculous. She hadn't seen Chris for six months—and before that, she'd rarely seen him apart from holidays. She definitely didn't need him; in fact, she and Rory had been managing fine without him for nine years.

Okay, so she had wanted him to stay. And yes, those few kisses had been wonderful. She wasn't going to pretend they didn't still have chemistry, because it reappeared every time they were alone together. And she wasn't going to deny that she still had feelings for Christopher, because she did, even if they were probably just leftover feelings from a teenage crush that she'd been hanging on to for far too long, and that was proving puzzlingly difficult to shake. Anyway, it was true: for a few minutes, she'd been trying to show Chris that she was sorry, that she was ready to give him a second chance, that things could be wonderful between them if he stayed. But then, at the moment she'd realized she might actually be persuading him, her hands had turned clammy and her heart had begun to pound. The old fear that had somehow been submerged in her panic over the prospect of losing him suddenly resurfaced. In a split second, she knew that upset as she was over Christopher's leaving, she wasn't sure she really wanted him to stay, either—not unless he could prove to her that things really were going to be different this time around.

So she had tested him, tried to make him see that settling in Stars Hollow and becoming a family man was going to be hard work, and tedious, and a lot less glamorous than California. Chris was supposed to say, "Lor, California and Silicon Valley doesn't mean anything compared to you. Nothing you can say is going to stop me from staying with you and Rory this time around." He was supposed to say, "I'm going to be here even if you try to stop me." Instead, all he had offered was: "I don't know what to say. I wish it wasn't like this."

That had sealed it. She should have known all along. She had known all along, actually. Chris wasn't going to be a man and vow to protect his family come what may, because he wasn't that kind of man. Maybe she would always love him, but he wasn't a stand-up guy. And that was the only kind of man she wanted.

It was ridiculous, then, to feel miserable and lonely and empty and, of all things, afraid. Lorelai knew disaster would have followed if she'd encouraged Christopher to stay. They'd be happy at first, playful and reckless like they had been as teenagers. Chris would forget important things like bills and deadlines and dates and she'd join him—for a while. Then she'd have to come to grips with reality again, would have to be a mature and responsible adult. And Chris would just want to play. Like a lovesick puppy, he'd come asking for her attention when she needed support from him.

No, it would never work. The faint but hopeful image of Chris as a responsible family man that she had dared to briefly indulge in faded and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Lorelai stood up, fixed the lid on the ice cream container and shoved it back into the freezer. Then she entered the bathroom, washed her hands and face, and re-emerged into the kitchen. Purposefully, she grabbed her purse from a chair and fished out her keys. What she needed right now wasn't ice cream or an afternoon indoors moping over a dream that was never meant to be. She needed fresh air, people, and coffee. Definitely coffee.

Somewhere in Stars Hollow, there had to be a place where people didn't judge you and didn't demand impossible things of you and didn't break your heart—a place where people appreciated and accepted you without asking you to give anything back, without asking you to take any terrifying risks with your life or your heart. A place with good company, great food, and good coffee.

Really, really strong coffee. As Lorelai left the house, her head held defiantly high, she thought she could already smell coffee on the breeze.

Lorelai opened her eyes, sniffing for coffee. Then she realized the room around her was dark. But that didn't make sense: Chris had left for California, it was the middle of the afternoon, and she was looking for coffee.

She sat up and gazed around the room, struggling to regain her bearings. Slowly, the outlines of her bedroom emerged in the moon-softened darkness. She must have been having a dream—or a flashback that had turned into a dream. Lorelai reached out into the space beside her, looking to replace the California-bound Christopher of her dream with the reassuringly close Christopher of the present.

Her hands fumbled around on the mattress, feeling only emptiness_._ She squinted at the clock on the table. _1:07 am._ Her heart pounding and her mouth dry, she pushed herself up further. _Where was Chris? _

Then she remembered. He'd gone out to a meeting, and she'd told him not to come home. Lorelai sank back down, her heart still pounding. Where would he have gone? To his mother's? Slept in the car? He didn't have any friends he could stay overnight with…did he? A thought entering her mind, she suddenly earnestly hoped not. Then again, if he wasn't at a friends', where…

Maybe Chris was just crashing on the couch downstairs. Guilt stirred within her. Lorelai ignored it and rolled over in bed, squishing her eyes shut. Determinedly, Lorelai tried to fall back asleep, heroically intent on blocking all thoughts of Christopher from her mind. She began mentally replaying the last scenes of a Christmas comedy called _His and Hers Christmas_, which she'd watched before bed in an effort to distract herself from irritating reminiscences about Christopher.

Five minutes later, still awake and with Christopher's face still disturbingly fresh in her memory, Lorelai realized she would never sleep unless she went to the washroom first—one of the joys of pregnancy. She sat up and hauled herself out of bed. In the hall, she peered down the stairs, wondering if there was a light on. But as far as she could see, the house was dark—and silent. Lorelai paused, listening for the faintest sound—the creak of a couch, a soft snore, a man's breathing. She waited. _Nothing._ She was just about to move to the top step of the stairs, intending to squint a little further into the darkness, when an agonized groan sounded, echoing from the very bowels of the house. With a start, Lorelai leapt sideways into the washroom, groping blindly in the dark for the light switch. She flicked it on and slammed the door, her heart hammering and the prickling sensation of fear rising up her body.

Slowly, she tried to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. She was being ridiculous. She knew that sound. It was just the house settling for the night—the old furniture in the basement having spasms, or something like that. She was acting like she hadn't lived alone for years.

Nevertheless, once out of the washroom, Lorelai scrambled as quickly as she could back to bed in the dark, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping she didn't see or hear anything else except the sound of her own breathing. She slipped into bed, rolled on to her side and pushed her face into the pillow, valiantly trying to ignore the empty Christopher-sized space beside her.

Sleep was a long time in returning. But slowly, hazy images began to appear. She heard a roar in her ears. She turned and there was Chris, speeding into Stars Hollow on his motorcycle. Her heart skipped a beat. He looked good—way too good, with that wide smile and the wavy brown hair, unruly from his helmet. She drew closer to kiss him…but as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone again, and Max stood in his place. Max was a wonderful man, kind and generous and a great kisser, too…and it was no surprise she was engaged to him. Yet she was sneaking out of her engagement party to call Christopher. She could hear the familiar sound of his voice over the telephone, asking about Max's CD collection…and suddenly Max vanished and it was Christopher again. Christopher was at her side at Sookie's wedding, taking her into his arms and her heart was skipping beat after because he was so close…but then something happened and he was gone again. He was with someone else, having a second child with the wrong woman and she was drowning her sorrows in coffee. She could see coffee, even smell it. It was through coffee that she had met _him_: her soulmate, the end of her quest for love and happiness. It was a classic love story, a tale of a friendship that had blossomed into…Anyway, all that mattered was that now there was Luke. That is, Luke was there…Her mind was drowsy, confused. Maybe Luke wasn't there at all, because suddenly she only saw Christopher again. His dad had died and what's-her-name had left him with Gigi, and he was standing between her and Luke, which should have been the important thing, but it actually didn't matter, because the important thing was that she and Christopher were friends despite it all. She was crying for some reason…she couldn't remember why, but he opened the door for her and all she could see was Christopher. She was waking up beside him in his apartment…and waking up beside him in Paris…and in Stars Hollow…and then one morning, he wasn't there anymore. He had left again. Christopher _always_ left. Or had she sent him away? She was too sleepy to figure it out. She was looking for him…in the diner…on a boat…but Luke was there. Only for an instant, because suddenly, there was Christopher again…next to her…in their bed…sending shivers up her spine as he ran his fingers up and down her arm while they lay together on the sun-drenched sand. It was nice of him to stay for a while, but he was going again. She was sure of it. She was peering through the fog, trying to find him, but Chris was shadowy and intangible and she couldn't quite get a hold of him no matter how hard she tried. Just in case, she reached out a weary arm to Christopher's side of the bed. Yes, no doubt about it, gone again. Always leaving, always gone. The last thing Lorelai saw before she fell into a deep sleep was Christopher's back as he walked away from the house on that warm overcast afternoon fourteen years ago. He turned back just once to give her a melancholy look, and then he was gone…

* * *

He didn't want to go, but what was there for him here? Chris gazed out of the rain-sprinkled window, peering out at the slowly disappearing city in the pre-dawn light of the bleak wet morning. He wouldn't be any less a dad in California than he was here, for all the fathering he was doing now. Chris felt the sting of guilt, but he didn't know how to resolve it. He wanted to be more involved in Rory's life, but until Lorelai wanted that too, he was going to continue watching from the sidelines.

He could stand up for himself more, could demand that he see Rory more often. But Lorelai had never really kept Rory away from him. The worst she had done was make it unappealing for him to get any closer; but real fathers didn't abandon their children just because it was inconvenient for them to visit, did they?

Okay, maybe he hadn't totally abandoned Rory, but sometimes he felt like he came pretty close. His failings as a dad weren't Lorelai's fault, really. They were his. What kind of a pathetic excuse for a man was he that he couldn't even stand up to his ex-girlfriend? Why did Lorelai always have that hold over him?

Chris felt worse and worse about himself as he slid back in his seat.

Lorelai was right about one thing: he didn't succeed at anything he tried. He hadn't succeeded at anything in twenty-six years, and maybe he never would. Despite her love of TV and music and parties and late nights, Lorelai had always been a star student. He, on the other hand, had never even succeeded in coaxing a grudging "well done" from his father. Instead, he'd been kicked out of boarding school after boarding school, become a teenage father and skipped out on university all together. He'd crushed all his parents' lofty aspirations for him in less than twenty years. He was a failure. He had failed at job after job, more jobs than anyone knew: as a teenager he'd been fired from a couple of them before his family and friends even knew he'd been hired. He ought to be gutted by his academic failures, his failed jobs. Maybe to some extent he was—when he accidentally let himself think about them.

But the failure that haunted him most, by far—more even than his failure as a father—was his failure with Lorelai. Of course, he should care about Rory just as much as he cared about Rory. But Rory would always love him unconditionally—well, he amended, until she was old enough to know better and her admiration turned into shame. But Lorelai…

He'd always been trying to prove himself to her. He'd always felt he was inferior to her, but when they were younger, it hadn't seemed to matter so much. But after Rory came along, he felt like Lorelai went through the world holding up a towering yardstick he could never measure up to. He'd never be the man she wanted, not even if he had a hundred years to grow up.

California was far away from Rory and Lorelai and all reminders of his failures with them. He'd always been a little fascinated by new technology. He definitely liked stimulation and excitement and meeting new people, and Silicon Valley seemed to promise all of that. It even seemed to glitter with the lure of the impossible: a successful career. So what if he failed at this job, too? At least he would do it a safe distance from the disapproving eyes of his parents and Lorelai's parents…and Lorelai. At the very least, it would be better than going on the way things were, knowing Lorelai and Rory were close enough to visit every day, yet feeling as though a gulf separated him from them.

Lorelai. Chris squirmed in his seat, trying to erase the images from his memory. He took out his new Discman, and in a minute the familiar beat of The Offspring was pulsing in his ears. But even turning on the music couldn't drown out the memories of her touch, her kisses…the unspoken invitation in the way she stroked his jaw, tenderly kissed him on the lips…Chris spun his body towards the window in frustration. _Why did she always do that?_ He had no self-confidence, but even he wasn't enough a fool to believe that Lorelai had left behind every shred of romantic feeling for him at sixteen years old.

Chris rested his head in his hand. Every time they were together, it was so good. But even if she was still attracted to him, Lorelai didn't trust him, as a romantic partner or a father for Rory. It was obvious. If she had really wanted him to stay, she wouldn't sent him mixed messages, wouldn't have discouraged him. He'd seen the uncertainty and wariness in her eyes.

He was still young: he'd just turned twenty-six. There would be plenty of girls in California. He would forget Lorelai. Maybe what he'd needed all these years was to go far away from Hartford, from Connecticut, from the memories of the past he and Lorelai had shared.

Chris leaned back in his seat and abandoned himself to a relatively new song by The Offspring called "Get It Right." _I've been told that to get what you want/ You just gotta give what you can / But I know for what I want it don't come easy as that._ He watched the city flashing past, faster and faster, in the gray rain. _They say, look out, boy/ Tomorrow comes and things will look better by then. / But I'll look out at the mirror at the same me again._ Suddenly he was in the plane, his mind still numb, the day still too early, and the gray sky outside the window was the same as the sky through the window of the car and the same song was strangely still playing in his ears.

_Still can't get it right / And for all I know / I swear I never will._ Only the city below was smaller than it had been through the car window: much smaller, and shrinking away with every second. He could see the green land through the fog, the patchy outlines of farms and trees and hills and subdivisions. Feeling a pang of regret, Chris turned away from the window. _For the thousandth time you turn and find / That it makes no difference to try. / Like Holden Caulfield, I tell myself / There's got to be a better way. _

The plane flew faster and faster; Chris imagined it streaking through the sky. His eyes grew heavy. Images flashed through his mind. Suddenly he was in California in a business suit: how had they arrived here so quickly? And there were girls—plenty of them—young and gorgeous and definitely interested in him. This wasn't bad at all.

He was trying to forget Lorelai. He talked to Rory on the phone every week. She was growing up so fast. It seemed like just yesterday he had been hearing about her tenth birthday party…and now she was telling him about her first day in high school. Sometimes Lorelai was on the phone, too. Was she seeing anyone? He wanted to ask Rory, but he didn't dare. It didn't matter, anyway. He had his life here, with a job…more or less…a girlfriend…sort of…

Then how had he found himself back in Stars Hollow? It seemed like no time at all had passed. Rory had grown up, but Lorelai didn't seem to have aged a day. In an instant he was face to face with the reality that even after seven years, his feelings for Lorelai hadn't changed a bit. All those girls meant nothing; Lorelai was the soulmate who constantly eluded him.

But he still didn't have a chance with her, and he couldn't run away anymore. Lorelai might never trust him, but someone else might. Someone else did. Sherry told him that if he got his life together she was willing to stay. Sherry meant what she said, and maybe that made all the difference. Or maybe he was starting to believe in himself the way Sherry believed in him. But mysteriously, this time, when he tried to hold down a steady job, he found to his surprise that he could. He was working from nine to five and wearing a suit every day, and to his disbelief, he actually liked it.

For the first time, maybe he had his life figured out. For the first time, maybe he could succeed at something.

But every time he saw Lorelai again, it was Lorelai, the way it always had been. Deep down he knew it should have been Lorelai. But instead, it was Sherry and he was having a child with Sherry…a child he was determined to help raise.

He never thought twice about staying to take care of Gigi, even when Sherry left, even when he was a single dad juggling meetings and deadlines and diapers and bottle feedings. Why was it so easy with Gigi when it had been so impossible with Rory? True, Sherry had never discouraged him from staying, never sent him away. But even if she had, he would have stayed. He couldn't understand why, but suddenly, he didn't need anyone to hold his hand, to tell him what to do. Suddenly, he could get up for work every morning and come home at the same time every night and not feel restless or dissatisfied…

Or maybe it wasn't so suddenly. Twenty years had passed since Rory's birth. Maybe he was finally growing up. Maybe he had found success in life. Except for one thing…

Except for Lorelai. There was still a hole in his life that only Lorelai could fill. She was single again, and he would go to the ends of the earth to woo her and win her. He tried hard…so hard…but it was over again. She'd slipped through his fingers again, and there was nothing left but for him to pick himself up off the ground and face the fact that, when it came down to it, he was still what he always had been.

A failure.

A failure? No. Why had he been thinking that? He could settle down, he could hold down a job and do well at it, too. _Talk to Christopher Hayden. He'll be able to connect you with some people…_ He could be a good father, get a little girl dressed in the morning and off to school with matching socks and shoes on the right foot, could do his best at being both mother and father to her. He wasn't perfect and never would be, but he was a successful employee and a good father. When he was sixteen he had needed Lorelai to support him, but he wasn't sixteen anymore. Now he needed to make up for all those lost years and support Lorelai.

When Lorelai came looking for him again, the way she always did, he would go back to her, the way he always did. But not because he needed her…even though he probably always would…but because she needed him. Gigi needed him. Rory needed him. Even his own mother needed him more now than he needed her.

He was in the cab again, driving towards the airport in the rain-smudged morning. He didn't understand why he was leaving. He should tell that driver to stop and turn around. This made so sense. Here he was, a father of a beautiful little girl with an IQ that both baffled and impressed him. Rory was here, in Connecticut. What was in California? Jobs were a dime a dozen, as long as you weren't picky—but Rory was one in a million. He could replace his job with another one, but he could never substitute anything or anyone else for Rory.

There was music playing in his ears again, another Offspring song, but something was wrong: the song shouldn't have been written yet, and yet he heard it playing clearly_. I can't stay / I can't stay…A million miles away…Wanted to pretend / If I escaped I could feel myself / I don't think you can. _

So what if Lorelai told him to stay away, hinted that he was a failure? How was he going to succeed if he never tried? How was he going to learn if he never failed? What on earth was he doing running away to California? How did he think he was going to solve his problems if he was hundreds of miles away from them? The sound flooded over him, the words embedded themselves in his mind, and suddenly he knew. Chris reached out his hand to tap the driver on the back and tell him to turn back around. Instead, to his astonishment, his hand struck something hard. The pain followed a couple of seconds later, and he felt himself slipping, falling…

* * *

A heavy thud sounded in his ears and a jarring sensation shook his body. Christopher's eyes blinked open. He found himself staring at a patch of carpet, his mouth full of fluff. Chris blinked, coughed and spat. Then, for a minute, he lay perfectly still, the wind knocked out of him. Had the plane crashed? But then shouldn't he be dead?

When he felt his breath come back, he raised himself up and looked around. There, to his right and a foot or two above him, was the couch. Inwardly, Chris groaned. Maybe he really was a fool—or losing it.

Or maybe he'd just been stuck for too long in that shallow sleep that brings constant dreaming and little rest.

Chris stood up slowly. His legs were stiff, his back ached, and his left arm was sporting a bruise that even in the moonlight was starting to look colourful. With a look of disgust, Chris picked up a flattened pillow from the corner of the couch and tossed it back into the centre of the couch. He glanced cautiously towards the stairs. Then he checked his watch. 2_:22 am._ Rubbing his head, Chris sank back down on the couch. He closed his eyes.

After a few minutes, he realized sleep was going to prove elusive, but the images appeared in his imagination anyway. The rain was still falling, the sky still dark, the morning still too early. But this time, he was heading home.

* * *

Lorelai was standing on the doorstep, purse over her shoulder, rooted inexplicably to the ground. She had been looking for something, but she couldn't remember what she had been looking for. _Coffee. Company. Companionship._

The storm was rolling in swiftly now, the clouds low and dark. In the distance, she saw a thin bright ribbon of lightning flash and disappear. Suddenly she touched her hand to her head and glanced upwards. A splash of water landed in her questioning eye. She was being rained on. Lorelai groaned inwardly, realizing her hair was going to be ruined. The appalling thought somehow broke her resolve to be brave.

Hand over her head, Lorelai turned back, climbing the steps to watch the rushing storm from the sheltered doorway. The sky was crying and she was crying with it, the tears rolling down like silent rain. She wrapped her arms around her chest, biting her lip and trying with a trembling body to sort out her emotions.

She wanted to run out in the rain after Chris. She wanted to go inside and brew a pot of coffee. She wanted someone wearing a warm, cuddly shirt to wrap his arms around her and protect her from the rain and the storm and things that groaned in the night.

No, she didn't want someone, and she didn't want coffee. Well, she wanted them both, and a hamburger and fries so salty and greasy that they came with a Surgeon General's warning attached.

But most of all, she wanted Christopher. She needed him.

* * *

Lorelai stirred. Groggily, she opened her eyes. Where had she been? Oh, looking for Chris. She blinked. The room was still dark, and there was no longer any light through the window, a sign that the moon had set. Lorelai rolled over to the other side of the bed and bumped into something warm. Her eyes flew open.

Her husband was peacefully sleeping on the other side of the bed, looking boyish in his sleep. Startled, Lorelai elbowed him. Chris snorted. She hit him again, harder. He shifted and his eyes opened.

"What…"

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

He turned his head on the pillow to look at her, eyebrow raised. "Sleeping."

"I kicked you out."

"I'm exercising my right to sleep in my own bed."

"Go sleep on your own floor."

Chris looked at her, then shook his head.

She pulled off the comforter and threw it down to the floor, yanking Chris' pillow from behind his head and dumping it on the floor as well. Chris shook his head and slid out of bed, making himself as comfortable as he could on the floor.

Back in bed, Lorelai's heart was racing. She lay there for a while, thinking. Once again, her eyes were re-adjusting to the dim light. A thought entered her mind, and her eyes roved around the room, peering keenly at every piece of furniture and into every corner. Experimentally, she sniffed the air. Then, disappointedly, she sank back down on the blankets, her lower lip beginning to pout.

She should have known. Another husband would have brought flowers, left a note of apology, slept considerately on the couch. Chris, on the other hand, had just curled up to her and gone to sleep as if nothing had happened yesterday. There was no bouquet of roses in the room, no card saying, "Lor, I'm sorry. You deserve better, and to show you how sorry I am, I'm taking you out to a five-star restaurant tomorrow." There was no sign of remorse, no apology, nothing…except a six-foot outline on the floor that was beginning to snore.

Lorelai shifted her legs, realizing just as she did so that the end of the bed felt lighter. She craned her neck to look at the foot of the bed, and her eyes widened. Where before there had been laundry, now there was just…blankets, and the shadowy outline of ten toes.

Lorelai sank back down on her pillow, her brow furrowed. She heard Chris tossing and turning, the floor creaking under his weight as he tried to find a comfortable position. Memories of her dreams began to steal back, and an unsettled feeling crept into the pit of her stomach. She opened her mouth, then closed it and glanced again towards the end of the bed. After a couple of minutes, she said softly, "Chris."

"Yes?" came his disgruntled voice from under the comforter.

"When did you come to bed?"

"When I decided being thrown out of bed was preferable to falling off the couch."

Lorelai raised her head on her elbow, her mouth forming a small "o". "You were sleeping on the couch?" she asked cautiously.

"I weighed my options and decided the couch was the least likely to endanger my life. Because it could have been just me, but yesterday I had the distinct impression that you were less than thrilled by my presence. Actually, I believe your exact words were, 'Don't come home tonight.' "

"Okay, except that it's still tonight, and you are definitely home."

Chris sighed. "Lorelai."

"Because maybe I did leave the outdoor light on for you, and you could have inferred that maybe I didn't mean for you to actually stay away from the house, but in order for you to figure that out, you would have had to pull into the driveway, which would mean that you were headed home when I told you not to."

Chris sat up, rubbing his forehead. "Look, Lor, I love you, but there are other people in this house. Rory's here, Gigi's here, and the last I heard, you and I were having a baby."

"You came back because of Gigi and Rory?"

"I came back because I'm a father. I have responsibilities. I'm not just going to take off into the night because you tell me to."

A half-smile crept slowly over Lorelai's face. "Okay," she murmured.

"And now I'd like to get a couple minutes of sleep before my alarm goes off," Chris added, drawing the comforter back over his head.

Lorelai was silent for a few minutes. Then she said softly, "Chris."

She waited. "Chris," she said, louder.

Chris groaned. "What is it?"

"Get back in bed."

Chris shook his head. "After thirty-five years there are still some things about you I don't understand."

"Good. Men like a woman of mystery."

Christopher stood and crawled irritably back into bed. He pulled the comforter back up, considerate enough to wrap a bit around Lorelai.

"Okay, Lor, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you do my laundry and find my stuff. But in my defense, I put it away when I came in."

"Thank you." She traced his back. "I'm not mad."

"Good," said Chris, turning over. "Goodnight."

Lorelai didn't stop talking. "You're a great dad and you're a good husband and I wish I'd just told you to stay here in instead of going to California."

"You're clearly not awake yet."

"I had this dream…"

"Yeah?"

Lorelai's voice was small. "That you got into an accident with Rory in the car, and we fought, and I left, and I didn't see you again until you left for California. And then I wanted to tell you to stay and I just didn't and you left."

Chris rolled over to look at her, his face no longer annoyed but attentive. "I remember that."

"I'm sorry," she said, fiddling with a loose thread on the comforter.

"Me too."

"And then I woke up and I thought you were still in California and I missed you. And then I realized, here you were." She gave him a faint smile.

"So you kicked me out of bed."

"Hey, I didn't say my brain woke up. It takes the third cup of coffee for that."

Chris smiled and opened the blankets to let her in closer, and she slid next to him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and Lorelai relaxed against him. In the darkness, the words started to spill out. "It's just, I get scared, because back then, I told you I didn't want to see you again, and after that one time, I didn't. You left me with Rory all alone for years."

"That was fifteen years ago."

"I know. But sometimes it feels like yesterday."

Chris shifted, pain crossing his eyes. "I thought we went through this when we decided to have another baby."

"I know, and I trust you, I really do, but if I tell you I don't want to see you again, I just want you to know, I don't mean permanently. I just mean, for a few hours, or maybe for a day if I'm really mad."

"In other words, don't take off for California for six years."

"Exactly. Don't take off for anywhere, actually, and don't stay away for more than a day. And keep your cell phone on, because even when I'm mad at you Paul Anka could choke on a bone or something and I could need to call you, not that you ever turn your phone off now…"

"Lor. I know I wasn't there when Rory was growing up, and I am always going to regret that. But this is a fresh start. Look at us. We've already been together longer than we were in high school."

"Which is definitely the yardstick for lasting relationships."

Chris smiled briefly. "Point taken. I just want you to know that I'm not going anywhere anymore, and I will tell you that as many times as you need to hear it." He propped himself up on his elbow to look at her, his eyes wistful. "I can't stay away even when you tell me you want a divorce."

Lorelai tried to look at him and suddenly found to her consternation that she couldn't meet his eyes. The look on his face was making her heart skip beats, and she felt an unfamiliar trickle of remorse seeping in. She swallowed. "Actually, I think I'll pass on the divorce." She smiled.

Slowly, a smile broke over Christopher's face. She touched his chin, drawing it downward until their lips met in a lingering kiss. Then they lay back down, Chris wrapping his arm back around her shoulder, while she rested her head on his chest and rubbed it gently.

"So how was your meeting?" she asked a few minutes later, raising her head to look at him.

Christopher yawned. "We learned how to Twitter. The techno-savvy among us Twittered all through the presentation. By the end of the night some of them were up to a couple hundred tweets and a couple dozen followers and I doubt they heard a word our boss said."

"Okay, in English this time. I still use a typewriter, remember?"

"Twitter. A steady stream of meaningless conversation among strangers on the Internet, or in other words, blogging on a triple mocha latte. You'd love it."

"I have to admit, steady stream does describe my conversation at times, but it happens to be very meaningful."

"So my boss claims about Twitter. We're going to use it to promote products, attract clients and build relationships. He was Twittering all the way through the meeting and making me watch him."

"Did you learn a lot?"

"Ashton Kutcher is rivaling CNN for the most Twitter followers, and he likes to post pictures of Demi in her underwear for the world to see."

"That sounds highly meaningful and exactly what you should be doing at your work meeting."

"I thought you'd approve."

"And if you decide to Twitter anything similar, I'm kicking you out for real this time."

Chris wrapped an arm around her waist. "You have nothing to worry about, because a) I have no desire to filter through a hundred updates about people's bathroom breaks and favorite lunch menus for the meaningful information, and b) that couch gets less and less comfortable every year."

"So that's what made you get back in bed after I told you to leave?" Lorelai asked, her voice tinged with self-satisfaction.

Chris looked at her.

"Not that I'm complaining," she added more meekly.

"No, I figured you were going to kick me out of bed the minute I got back in. But then I realized that we're having a baby. And I'm going to stay to help you look after it, whether you like it or not."

"You're calling our child it?" asked Lorelai skeptically.

"I thought I'd better play it safe."

"Oh, I don't know," said Lorelai airily. "We have two girls, so I wouldn't complain about a boy. And I mean, you do a pretty good job of putting up with my changeable moods, so I figure I could handle one more male in the house. Not that this means I don't expect you to start washing your own shirts from now on."

Chris grinned, his hand moving gently up and down her stomach. "I'm just impressed you let me back in bed."

"Well, I got used to you pulling off all the blankets and kicking me in your sleep. It creates a kind of sleep-inducing rhythm, you know, sort of like Rock-a-bye Baby. Which might be why your child seems to love it, because he starts to move when you kick. Plus, on a purely decorative note, there's this unsightly flat spot in the bed every time you get out. It's a little over six feet long, and it's actually shaped kind of like one of those Christmas crackers, you know, the ones they have on sale at Doose's…"

Christopher detached himself from her. "Good night, Lor."

"…Not that I'm implying you look like a six-foot Christmas cracker, cause that would be…"

"Have a really, really good night."

"Good night, Christopher."

With a contented sigh, Lorelai rested her head on Chris' shoulder and snuggled close to him, her lips pressing gently into his neck. Christopher shifted, and in response Lorelai burrowed closer. For a few minutes, everything was silent except for the ticking of a clock downstairs. Then, abruptly, Christopher's legs thrashed and he slid further to the edge of the bed, taking the comforter with him.

"Chris, go to sleep," Lorelai murmured.

"This from the woman who hit me and threw me out of bed."

Lorelai groaned and rolled over on to her back. "I can't sleep either."

"We could count sheep."

"We could count ceiling tiles." Lorelai offered, gazing expressionlessly at the ceiling. "One, two, three…"

Chris shifted in frustration. "Tomorrow, we'll be cross-eyed, but rested."

Lorelai giggled.

"What?" he asked in surprise.

"This reminds me of when we used to lie on my balcony counting stars."

"Yeah?" Chris looked over at her. Their eyes met, and his foot touched hers. "It reminds me of something else."

"What?" she asked, suppressing laughter. "That disastrous moment when my mom caught us in the gazebo standing a little too close for a proper divorced couple?"

"Memorable as that moment was, no." He stroked her arm and pulled her closer. "Come on, doesn't lying in bed counting ceiling tiles remind you of something else?"

"I give up, when else have we been so sleep-deprived?"

He brushed a lock of hair from her face, letting his fingers run gently down her neck. "Counting the fleur-de-lis on the ceiling in Paris."

"Okay, that night was an all-time low."

Chris' eyes flashed. "Yeah? What about afterwards?"

"What, begging for bread from the bread delivery man at three o'clock in the morning isn't an all-time low to you?"

"No. After that."

A mischievous gleam of recognition entered Lorelai's eyes. Chris pushed himself up on his elbows and kissed her passionately. Her lips caught his hungrily as she felt his hands moving over her body.

"Chris," she managed, a few seconds later, between his ardent kisses.

"Yeah?" he said.

She tried to push him off her. "It's 3 am."

"I know, and in five months we won't have any more chances to do this at 3 am." In spite of herself, Lorelai's smile widened, and Christopher's own smile dawned even brighter. "Come on, you know you want to recreate that night in that incredible hotel."

Lorelai was about to say something in affirmation, but she realized she had lost the power of speech and the only sounds coming from her throat were incoherent babbles of pleasure. He was kissing her along her neck, biting her gently behind her ear, sliding his fingers into the neck of her pyjama top and coaxing her arm out of her sleeve. Her other arm curled around his neck to draw him downwards, closer to her, and she felt Christopher's breathing grow heavier as she pulled his face to hers and kissed him eagerly.

A patter sounded abruptly on the roof; and suddenly the crystalline tinkling at the window was the gentler music of water. Hazily, Lorelai thought that it didn't matter: Chris was here and she didn't have to go out to run after him, and tonight there were no tears but only water, thawing the ice and snow. Christopher's lips were at the nape of her neck, on her shoulder, at her collarbone, his hand stroking her swelling stomach, and every nerve in her body was awakening and crying out for more until she felt she couldn't bear it if he made her wait a second longer. The water was rising, a flood of desire, and then the only thing she knew was a tide of sensation rising deep within, blotting out sight and sound and all other senses…


	4. Chapter 4

The crimson light of a just-rising winter sun was peeking through the blinds, and Lorelai's alarm was beeping insistently. Lorelai stretched out a weary hand to silence it and then sank back down on her pillow, shutting her eyes again.

Vaguely, she remembered waking earlier, opening her eyes in the pre-dawn light to see a bleary-eyed Christopher knocking things over and complaining about too little sleep. She had closed her eyes again and sank back into sleep for a few heavenly minutes, and then her own alarm had sounded. She had opened one eye and hit the snooze button...once. Twice. Three times. She had lost count of how many times it had been, but after all, she had an excuse: she really hadn't slept much last night. With a great effort, Lorelai roused herself from her pillow and squinted at the clock.

She had twenty minutes to get ready for work. She wasn't going to be ready in twenty minutes. Through half-closed eyes, she watched the minutes pass on the digital clock. When 7:30 arrived, she picked up the phone.

Sookie answered on the fifth ring.

"Hello?" she said, sounding out of breath.

"Hi, Sookie," said Lorelai, trying to make her voice sound gravelly, which didn't take much effort, considering her fitful sleep.

"Lorelai!" Sookie gasped. "What's wrong? You sound horrible! Are you sick?"

Lorelai considered lying, then decided against it. "No, but would you really really object if I took a pregnancy day today?"

"A pregnancy day?"

"Yeah. I am so sorry to do this to you, but I got barely any sleep last night."

"Oh, hon, I know how it feels, believe me. Daisy kicked all the time in the night and slept during the day. I swore I was having a bat or whatever stays awake all night. Now I can't get her to take her one o'clock nap. Go figure."

"Yeah, kids, what are you going to do? Anyway…"

"Sure, no problem, you can take a pregnancy day. Get some sleep. Only, isn't it kind of early for that baby to be keeping you awake?"

The white lie escaped anyway. "I think I'm having a future kickboxer. He's training early."

"Oh, sounds fun."

"But, Sook," said Lorelai, suddenly genuinely concerned, "are you sure you and Michel can handle everything?"

"We can handle everything. We are the handlers of handlers. We—"

From the distance came a crash and some expletive-like French words. Lorelai was suddenly awake. "Sookie, is everything okay?"

"Oh, I'm positive. Everything is okay. It's better than okay. Everything is one hundred percent fine here, so you get your rest now, and I'll see you on Monday. Bye."

Lorelai sat up in bed for a minute, phone in hand. Finally, she shrugged and lay the phone back down. At this point, she really didn't care whether Michel and Sookie destroyed The Dragonfly and bit each other's heads off in the process. She sank into her pillow, and a smile spread across her face. She was going to sleep.

She was going to enjoy hours of glorious, blissful, uninterrupted sleep.

* * *

Hours later, Lorelai stretched out contentedly in bed. She felt good. Wonderful. Her whole body felt relaxed and alive. Yesterday had been a horrible day, and most of the night hadn't been much better, but the last part of it…especially the very last part… Lorelai giggled, her cheeks flushing with pleasure. She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of a sleepless Christopher groggily making his way through a long workday while she lounged lazily at home. But no matter how bad his day was, she would make up for it when he got home. He deserved it. She'd told him to leave, but he'd come home. She had indicated she didn't want him to come back into their bedroom that night, but he'd climbed into bed beside her anyway. She'd told him they should really get some sleep at 3 am, and he hadn't listened. He hadn't done anything she told him to, and she loved it.

It was going to be a wonderful day. Lorelai flopped her head back on the pillow, this time not to sleep, but to simply bask in the pleasure of lying in bed while the whole world was busy working, Twittering, Blackberry-ing and texting. Vaguely, she heard voices drifting up the stairs. Several voices, which was odd, because only Rory was supposed to be home.

Suddenly, Lorelai stiffened. She sat up and slid to the edge of the bed, gathering the sheets around her.

"It was very odd that the door was unlocked, Rory."

The voice was familiar. Far too familiar. Lorelai sat frozen to her bed, clutching the sheets to her body and trying to make her breathing as soft as possible.

"Your grandfather and I never leave the door unlocked," the voice continued. "I've never forgotten what happened to the poor Watsons. Do you remember, Richard?"

"Yes, Emily. Although personally, I've never worried about a dognapper, given that we don't have a dog."

"That's besides the point."

"I don't know why the door was unlocked, Grandma," came Rory's apologetic voice. "It's usually locked, I promise. Do you want to see upstairs?"

Lorelai, terror in her eyes, looked around for a few seconds before sliding off the bed and dashing like lightning across the room and into the closet, grabbing the portable phone on the way. In the distance, she heard voices pausing in the hallway below the stairs.

"Your mother really needs to put more portraits in the hallway, Rory."

"I think that shot of Lorelai and Rory is wonderful, Emily."

"Oh, that. I don't call that a portrait. A woman with as many distinguished ancestors as your mother ought to have more formal portraits…"

Lorelai couldn't remember Christopher's work number. It was on a pad of paper downstairs in the kitchen, but she was most definitely not going down there. She thought for a second, and then dialed his cell phone number.

"At the sound of the beep, please leave a message."

Lorelai's brow darkened. She bit her nails. A voice wafted up the stairs. "Rory, you'll have to show me the upstairs bedrooms. Ever since your parents told me they had an on-suite, I've been dying to see how it compares to that tacky renovation the Boyers had done."

Frantically, Lorelai began punching buttons again.

* * *

Christopher was sitting at his desk, staring blankly at his e-mail inbox. He couldn't read anything, especially not the endless Twitter updates that had somehow been sent to his e-mail after he'd been coerced into creating a Twitter account during the training session. He was the kind of person who needed eight hours of sleep a night, and he was pretty sure he had barely gotten two last night.

Chris' mouth curled upwards in a smile. Still, making up with Lorelai was worth missing sleep. The previous day's argument didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that he and Lorelai now knew how to resolve their differences before they went to sleep…or at least, before they went to sleep the second or third time.

Chris didn't really mind if this meant they could end up talking all night. It was the best feeling in the world to know that he and Lorelai had every night to spend together. They could talk about their respective days, about people they had met and situations they had encountered and ridiculous things that had happened. They could exchange random pop culture references that had meaning only for the two of them. They could reminisce about the past, they could discuss the present, and they could make plans for the future. They could talk about nothing at all, and they would still share a bond. They weren't hundreds of miles apart, or with other people, or refusing to speak to each other. They were in the same house, the same room—together, the way they always should have been.

Things weren't perfect. He had learned last night that Lorelai was still insecure, still afraid he was going to leave her. And if he was going to be honest, although he didn't expect Lorelai to ask for a divorce again, he didn't fully trust her yet, either. They'd both spent decades feeling hurt and betrayed: those feelings weren't going to disappear overnight. It was going to take time. He and Lorelai had been getting too wrapped up in their work and Christmas preparations to spend the time together they needed. They'd barely been back together a year, and they had more than twenty years to make up for. Suddenly last night didn't seem like nearly enough.

And suddenly he could remember last night in vivid detail. After all those years, Lorelai was still the most desirable woman, inside and out, that he had ever met. Still, after all those years, there was something between them—a chemistry, a closeness—that no one else could ever match. Chris felt his pulse begin to quicken, his thoughts running down tracks that definitely had nothing to do with work. Suddenly he felt the urge to call Lorelai and tell her to meet him at home for lunch. He could just grab his…

_Cell phone. _The sudden thought burst into his foggy mind, breaking his train of thought better than a dozen cold showers could have.

After that conversation last night, he'd still forgotten to turn on his cell phone. White-faced, Chris pulled it out of his coat pocket and turned it on.

_5 missed calls?_ Since this morning? Heart pounding, he checked the number.

Home.

Home.

Home….

All the calls were made in the last fifteen minutes. Instantly, Chris pressed the speed dial for Home.

Lorelai answered almost immediately.

"Chris," she hissed in a throaty whisper that sounded nothing like her usual self.

"What is it?" he asked. "I'm so sorry, Lor, I just got the messages and I called you…"

"My parents are here."

Chris was confused. "What?"

"My parents are here. In this house. And I didn't invite them in."

"Well, neither did I," said Chris, heart still pounding and mind still running through movie-worthy horrors happening to Lorelai and Rory and Gigi. And now Richard and Emily.

"The door was unlocked," continued Lorelai, coming as close to shouting as anyone could in a whisper.

Chris' sleep-deprived mind tried to retrace his steps. "Oh," he said.

"And the only person who left the house this morning was you."

"Lor, I'm—"

"And if the door hadn't been unlocked, they couldn't have come in, and I wouldn't currently be hiding in the closet whispering into the portable phone, listening to my mom criticize my bathroom décor and hoping to God my parents don't come in here."

Christopher scratched his forehead. "Lor, are you at home?"

"_Chris_."

"I'm sorry, I'm not completely awake. What are you doing still at home?"

"I called into work and told them I was taking a pregnancy day."

"A what? Is something wrong with the baby?"

"No, I just didn't get enough sleep last night because of someone's bright idea at three o'clock in the morning."

Chris looked sheepish. "Sorry about that. But it makes you feel any better, I have more coffee in my system than you do in a week and I still feel like I'm one step away from total collapse.'

"Okay, so come home."

"What?"

"Say you had a family emergency! Your daughter covered herself in magic marker, the dog ate all the Christmas candy and has to have his stomach pumped, your wife was found in her closet unconscious from dust inhalation. Which could actually be true in a few minutes."

"Okay…"

"Just get home and distract my parents before they come into this room and find their only daughter, on whom they staked all their hopes in life, skipping work and hiding in the closet."

Chris rubbed his forehead. "Okay, okay, I will try to get out of here, but just to warn you, the streets are still icy and there's a couple of fallen branches."

"My parents are five feet away from our room! Do you think I can get under the bed?"

"Stay where you are. I'm heading home."

Chris clicked off his cell phone with a smile on his face in spite of himself. Right now he wasn't going to complain about leaving work under any pretext, no matter how much mail he had. He pulled on his coat, grabbed his things, and headed out of his office, switching off the light and closing the door.

At the sound of the door, couple of office assistants looked up from their partitioned desks. He recognized one, a newly married twenty-one year-old who had recently discovered to her consternation that her perfect man had the world's most meddling mother, and who during lunch hours frequently commiserated with Chris about nightmarish in-laws. He gave her a faint grin. One of his co-workers emerged from his own office, report in one hand and Blackberry in the other. He looked up, one thumb still typing on the keypad, and glanced at Chris.

"Are you leaving, or arriving?" He squinted at Christopher. "I can't tell, but judging from the fact that your back is to your office door, I'm guessing it's the first one. Wow, I wish Dave would give me such short workdays."

Chris attempted a smile. "Family emergency," he muttered.

"Oh," said his Blackberry-wielding co-worker. "Sorry. Anything serious?"

Chris shook his head and looked at the young office assistant out of the corner of his eye. "No. The in-laws just showed up unexpectedly."

Shannon, the twenty-one year old, stood, her eyes wide and sympathetic. "Oh, Christopher. I'm so sorry." She left her desk and opened the door for him. Blackberry man watched in surprise for two seconds; then the vibration of the cell phone in his pocket distracted him, and he clumsily slid the Blackberry and report into one hand and answered the phone with the other.

"I'll be thinking about you," said Shannon earnestly, holding the door open for Chris.

"Thanks," Chris said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, but genuine gratitude in his tone.

He took the elevator down to the first floor and stepped out the door, to be greeted by a gust of wind. The air was bitingly cold and a few flakes of snow were falling.

He'd been looking forward to a drowsy, lazy morning at work. A lunch hour with Lorelai. A drowsy afternoon filled with pleasant memories of the lunch hour, and then an evening at home with Gigi and Rory and Lorelai. And more time with Lorelai at night. A relaxed Lorelai, a welcoming Lorelai…

Then again, life had a way of interfering. Smiling, Chris got into the car, pulled out of the parking lot and turned in the direction of home.


End file.
